


The Pearl Eternal

by blubberpatchcumquat (VanillaSkyce)



Series: The Gemstone Chronicles [2]
Category: Original Work, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Greg Actually Does Stuff In This AU, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Pearl is Steven's Aunt, Relationships are Platonic (For Now), Sneople, What If Steven Never Left Lars's Body :3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-08 20:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 110,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16436051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaSkyce/pseuds/blubberpatchcumquat
Summary: The Second Installment of my High Fantasy AU version of Steven Universe. Follow Steven as he discovers more about the latent power of his ancient bloodline, of which Greg and Pearl are ancestors of.Vidalia features as the rogue princess, skilled in the arts of courtly intrigue, espionage and of course, good old-fashioned dagger combat.Amethyst as The Purple Puma, a fearsome berserker who transforms into a massive panther when Steven's life is threatened.LegoLars as the master archer, lethal and deadly quick at 10000 feet.Jasper as the Knight-Protector, feared by all, loved by few.Ruby as the Ruby Rider, Isyaki-baneBismuth as Bismuth :PDare to embark on this fantastical of the highest order in an all-new storyline where Steven must discover his ancient heritage to combat his darkest destiny. Discover The Pearl Eternal.





	1. Prologue : The Accords of I'chir Gelar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Master_of_the_Boot1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Boot1/gifts).



> To my first and most ardent supporter of this fanfiction of mine, who's unfailing advice and feedback on each and every page gave me reason to continue.
> 
> To SeedSerotiny, whose compelling fictional narratives and scarily realistic portrayals of modern relationships and problems have inspired me to do the exact opposite.
> 
> To my readers, for whom the ultimate intent of this series is for, may this story spark in you the fires of inspiration and imagination that so drove me to create, and to wonder.

_Being an Account of the Battle of the Kingdoms of the West against the most heinous Invasion and Evil of Black Diamond - Based upon the Battle of I’chir Gelar_

 

 

 **IN THE YOUTH** of the world, the evil Black Diamond stole the Grey Ward and fled, seeking dominion. The Ward resisted, and its fire maimed her with a dreadful burning. But she would not give it up, for it was precious to her

 

Then Gregarion, a sorcerer and disciple of the Diamond Grey, led forth the king of the Sangrians and his three children, and they reclaimed the Ward from the iron tower of The Black. Black sought to pursue, but the wrath of the Ward repelled her and drove her back.

 

Gregarion set Wy-Ate and his children to be kings and queens over four great kingdoms in eternal guard against Black. The Ward he gave to Hrod to keep, saying that so long as a descendant of Hrod held the Ward the West would be safe.

 

Century followed century with no menace from Black Diamond, until the spring of 4865, when Q’zarnia was invaded by a vast horde of Indratu, Drakans, and Isyaki. In the center of this sea of Alabastians was borne the huge iron pavilion of Black Diamond. Cities and villages were razed and burned, for Black Diamond came to destroy, not to conquer. Those of the people who lived were given to the steel-masked Marek priests for sacrifice in the unspeakable rites of the Alabastians. None survived save those who fled to Aine or were taken from the mouth of the Grey River by Wy-Ate warships.

 

Next the horde struck south at Aine. But there they found no cities. The nomadic Ainur horsemen fell back before them, then struck in vicious hit-and-run attacks. The traditional seat of the Ainurean kings was the Stronghold, a man-made mountain with stone walls thirty feet thick. Against this, the Alabastians hurled themselves in vain before settling down to besiege the place. The siege lasted for eight futile years.

 

This gave the West time to mobilize and prepare. The generals gathered at the Imperial War College in Tol Maheshwar and planned their strategy. National differences were set aside, and Ophidian, the Warder of Hrod, was chosen to have full command. With him came two strange advisers: an ancient but vigorous man who claimed knowledge even of the Alabastian kingdoms; and a strikingly beautiful woman with a silver lock at her brow and an imperious manner. To these Ophidian listened, and to them he paid almost deferential respect.

 

In the late spring of 4875, Black One-Eye abandoned her siege and turned west toward the sea, pursued still by Ainur horsemen. In the mountains, the Phenaidians came forth from their caverns by night and wreaked fearful slaughter on the sleeping Alabastians. But still were the forces of Black Diamond beyond counting. After a pause to regroup, the host proceeded down the valley of the River Aine toward the city of I’chir Gelar, destroying all in its path. Early in the summer, the Alabastians deployed for the assault upon the city.

 

On the third day of the battle, a horn was heard to blow three times. Then the gates of I’chir Gelar opened, and the Gelarian knights charged out to fall upon the front of the Alabastian horde, the iron-shod hoofs of their chargers trampling living and dead. From the left came Ainur cavalry, Q’zarnian pikemen, and veiled Phenai irregulars. And from the right came the Wy-Atian berserks and the legions of Shwar.

Attacked on three sides, Black committed her reserves. It was then that the gray-clad Hrodenites, the Delmars, and the Tusconian archers came upon his forces from the rear. The Alabastians began to fall like mown wheat and were overcome by confusion.

 

Then the Renegade, Andarion the Sorcerer, went in haste to the black iron pavilion from which Black had not yet emerged. And to the Accursed One he said, "Lord, throe enemies have thee surrounded in great numbers. Yea, even the gray Hrodenites have come in their numbers to cast defiance at thy might."

 

Black arose in anger and declared, "I will come forth, that the false keepers of The Corrupted Ward, the jewel which was mine, shall see me and know fear of me. Send to me my kings."

 

"Great Lord," Zedar told him, "thy kings are no more. The battle hath claimed their lives and those of a multitude of thy Marik priests as well."

 

Black Diamond's wrath grew great at these words, and fire spat from her right eye and from the eye that was not. She ordered her servants to bind her shield to the arm on which she had no hand and she took up her dread black sword. With this, she went forth to do battle.

 

Then came a voice from the midst of the Hrodenites, saying, "In the name of Pink, I defy thee, Black. In the name of The Grey One, I cast my despite in thy teeth. Let the bloodshed be abated, and I will meet thee to decide the battle. I am Ophidian, Warder of Hrod. Meet me or take thine stinking host away and come no more against the kingdoms of the West."

 

Black Diamond strode apart from the host and cried, "Where is he who dares pit his mortal flesh against the Queen of the World? Behold, I am White, Queen of Queens and Lord of Lords. I will destroy this loud-voiced Hrod. Mine enemies shall perish, and The Corrupted Ward shall again be mine."

 

Ophidian stood forth. He bore a mighty sword and a shield muffled with cloth. A grizzled wolf marched at his side, and a snowy owl hovered over his head. Ophidian said, "I am Ophidian and I will contend with thee, foul and misshapen One-Eye."

 

When Black saw the wolf, she said, "Begone, Gregarion. Flee if thou wouldst save thy life." And to the owl she said, "Abjure thy father, my dearest Polina, and worship me. To thee shall I bequeath my love, everlasting, and thou shalt not want for there is naught I cannot give thee."

 

But the wolf howled defiance, and the owl screeched her scorn. Black raised her sword and smote down upon the shield of Ophidian. Long they fought, and many and grievous were the blows they struck. Those who stood near to see them were amazed. The fury of The Black One grew great, and her sword battered the shield of Ophidian until the Warder fell back before the onslaught of the Accursed One. Then the wolf howled and the owl shrieked in one voice together, and the strength of Ophidian was renewed.

 

With a single motion, the Hroden Warder unveiled his shield, in the center of which stood a round jewel, in size like the heart of a child. As Black gazed upon it, the stone began to glow and flame. The Accursed One drew back from it. He dropped his shield and sword and raised his arms before his face to ward away the dread illumine of the stone.

 

Ophidian struck, and his sword pierced Black's visor to strike into the eye that was not and plunge into the Accursed One's head. Black Diamond fell back and gave a great cry. She plucked out the sword and threw off her helmet. Those who watched recoiled in terror, for her face was seared by some great fire and was horrible to behold. Weeping blood, Black cried out again as she beheld the jewel which she had named The Corrupted Ward and for which she had brought her war into the West. Then she collapsed, and the earth resounded with her fall.

 

A great cry went up from the host of the Alabastians when they saw what had befallen Black Diamond, and they sought to flee in their panic. But the armies of the West pursued them and slew them, so that when the smoky dawn broke on the fourth day, the host was no more.

 

Ophidian asked that the body of the Accursed One be brought to him, that he might behold her who would be queen of all the world. But the body was not to be found. In the night, Andarion the Sorcerer had cast an enchantment and passed unseen through the armies of the West, bearing away the one he had chosen as master.

 

Then Ophidian took counsel with his advisers. And Gregarion said to him, "Black is not dead. She only sleeps. For she is a Diamond and cannot be slain by any mortal weapon."

 

"When will she awaken?" Ophidian asked. "I must prepare the West against her return."

 

Polina answered, "When once again a King of Hrod's line sits on his northern throne, the Dark God will awaken to do war with him."

 

Ophidian frowned, saying, "But that is never!" For all knew that the last Hroden King had been slain with his family in 4002 by Olivine assassins.

 

Again the woman spoke. "In the fullness of time the Hroden King will rise to claim his own, as the ancient Prophecy foretells. More cannot be said."

 

Ophidian was content and set his armies to cleaning the battlefield of the wreckage of the Alabastians. And when that was finished, the kings of the West gathered before the city of I’chir Gelar and held council. Many were the voices raised in praise of Ophidian.

 

Soon men began crying that Ophidian should henceforth be chosen as ruler of all the West. Only Meridon ambassador of Imperial Shwar, protested in the name of his Emperor, Raja Maheshwaran IV. Ophidian refused the honor, and the proposal was dropped, so that there was again peace among those assembled in council. But in return for peace, a demand was made of Shwar.

 

The Phenom of the Phenaidians spoke first in a loud voice. "In fulfillment of the Prophecy, there must be promised a princess of Shwar to be wife unto the Hroden King who will come to save the world. This the Diamonds require of us."

 

Again Meridon protested. "The Hall of the Hroden King is empty and desolate. No king sits upon the Hroden throne. How many a princess of Imperial Shwar be wed with a phantom?"

 

Then the woman who was Polina replied. "The Hroden King will return to assume his throne and claim his bride. From this day forward, therefore, each princess of Imperial Shwar shall present herself in the Hall of the Hroden King upon her sixteenth birthday. She shall be clad in her wedding gown and shall abide there for three days against the coming of the King. If he comes not to claim her, then she shall be free to return to her father for whatever he may decree for her."

 

Meridon cried out. "All Shwar shall rise against this indignity. No! It shall not be!"

 

The wise Phenom of the Phenaidians spoke again. "Tell your Emperor that this is the will of the Diamonds. Tell him also that in the day Shwar fails in this, the West shall rise against him and scatter the sons of Orange to the winds and pull down the might of the Empire, until Imperial Shwar is no more."

 

At that, seeing the might of the armies before him, the ambassador submitted to the matter. All then agreed and were bound to it.

 

When that was done, the nobles of strife-torn Flaxia came to Ophidian, saying, "The King of the Gelarians is dead and the Duke of Tuscony also. Who now shall rule us? For two thousand years has war between Gelaria and Tuscony rent fair Arendia. How may we become one people again?"

 

Ophidian considered. "Who is heir to the Gelarian throne?"

 

"Lavirintos is crown prince of the Gelarians," the nobles replied.

 

"And to whom descends the Tusconian line?"

 

"Kimeia is the daughter of the Tusconian duke," they told him.

 

Ophidian said, "Bring them to me." And when they were brought before Ophidian, he said to them, "The bloodshed between Gelaria and Tuscony must end. Therefore, it is my will that you be wed to each other and that the houses which so long have warred shall thus be joined."

 

The two cried against the judgment, for they were filled with ancient enmity and with the pride of their separate lines. But Gregarion took Lavirintos aside and spoke in private with him. And Polina withdrew Kimeia to a separate place and was long in converse with her. No man learned then or later what was said to the two young people. But when they returned to where Ophidian waited, Kimeia and Lavirintos were content that they should be wed. And this was the final act of the council that met after the battle of I’chir Gelar.

 

Ophidian spoke to all the kings and nobles one final time before departing for the north.

 

"Much has been wrought here that is good and shall endure. Behold, we have met together against the Alabastians and they have been overthrown. The Evil Black Diamond is quelled. And the covenant we have made here among us prepares the West for the day of the Prophecy when the Hroden King shall return and Black shall wake from her long sleep to contend again for empire and dominion. All that may be done in this day to prepare for the great and final war has been done. We can do no more. And here, perchance, the wounds of Flaxia have been healed, and the strife of more than two thousand years may see its end. So far as may be, I am content with it all.”

 

"Hail, then, and farewell!"

 

He turned from them and rode north with the grizzled man who was Gregarion and the queenly woman who was Polina by his side. They took ship at Canaar in Delmarvia and set sail for Hrodenheim. And Ophidian returned no more to the kingdoms of the West.

 

But of his companions are many tales told. And of that telling, what may be true and what false few men may know.


	2. In The Embrace of A Broken City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the rendezvous point of I'chir Volune, the fellowship awaits the arrival of their transportation, and so too the Ruby Rider. While waiting though, the group stumbles upon a singularly unexpected individual...

**I’CHIR VOLUNE WAS NO MORE**. Twenty-four centuries had passed since the city of the Volunite Flaxen had been laid waste, and the dark, endless forests of northern Flaxia had reclaimed the ruins. Broken walls had toppled and been swallowed up in the moss and wet brown bracken of the forest floor, and only the shattered stumps of the once proud towers moldered among the trees and fog to mark the place where I’chir Volune had stood. Sodden snow blanketed the mist-shrouded ruins, and trickles of water ran down the faces of ancient stones like tears.

 

Steven wandered alone down the tree-choked avenues of the dead city, his stout gray wool cloak drawn tight against the chill, and his thoughts as mournful as the weeping stones around him. Alger's farm with its green, sun-drenched fields was so far behind him that it seemed lost in a kind of receding haze, and he was desperately homesick. No matter how hard he tried to hold onto them, details kept escaping him.

 

The rich smells of Aunt Pearl's kitchen were only a faint memory; the ring of Bismuth's hammer in the smithy faded like the dying echo of the last note of a bell, and the sharp, clear faces of his playmates wavered in his remembrance of them until he could no longer be sure that he would even recognize them. His childhood was slipping away, and try though he might he could not hold on to it.

 

Everything was changing; that was the whole problem. The core of his life, the rock upon which his childhood had been built, had always been Aunt Pearl. In the simple world of Alger's farm she had been Mistress Pearl, the cook, but in the world beyond Alger's gate she was Polina the Sorceress, who had watched the passage of four millennia with a purpose beyond mortal comprehension.

 

And Mister Wolf, the old vagabond storyteller, had also changed. Steven knew now that this old friend was in fact his great-great grandfather - with an infinite number of additional "greats" added on for good measure - but that behind that roguish old face there had always been the steady gaze of Gregarion the Sorcerer, who had watched and waited as he had looked upon the folly of men and Gods for seven thousand years. Steven sighed and trudged on through the fog.

 

 

 

The very idea of their names names was deeply unsettling. Steven had never wanted to believe in sorcery or magic or witchcraft. Such things were unnatural, and they violated his notion of solid, sensible reality. But too many things had happened to allow him to hold on to his comfortable skepticism any longer.

 

In a single, shattering instant the last vestiges of his doubt had been swept away. As he had watched with stunned disbelief, Aunt Pearl had erased the milky stains from the eyes of Marina the witch with a gesture and a single word, restoring the madwoman's sight and removing her power to see into the future with a brutal evenhandedness. Steven shuddered at the memory of Marina's despairing wail. That cry somehow marked the point at which the world had become less solid, less sensible, and infinitely less safe.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Uprooted from the only place he had ever known, unsure of the identities of the two people closest to him, and with his whole conception of the difference between the possible and the impossible destroyed, Steven found himself committed to a strange pilgrimage. He had no idea what they were doing in this shattered city swallowed up in trees, and not the faintest idea where they would go when they left. The only certainty that remained to him was the single grim thought to which he now clung; somewhere in the world there was a man who had crept through the predawn darkness to a small house in a forgotten village and had murdered Steven's parents; if it took him the rest of his life, Steven was going to find that man, and when he found him, he was going to kill him. There was something strangely comforting in that one solid fact.

 

He carefully climbed over the rubble of a house that had fallen outward into the street and continued his gloomy exploration of the ruined city. There was really nothing to see. The patient centuries had erased nearly all of what the war had left behind, and slushy snow and thick fog hid even those last remaining traces. Steven sighed again and began to retrace his steps toward the moldering stump of the tower where they had all spent the previous night.

 

As he approached, he saw Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl standing together some distance from the ruined tower, talking quietly. The old man's rust-colored hood was turned up, and Aunt Pearl's blue cloak was drawn about her. There was a look of timeless regret on her face as she looked out at the foggy ruins. Her long, dark hair spilled down her back, and the single white lock at her brow seemed paler than the snow at her feet.

 

"There he is now," Mister Wolf said to her as Steven approached them.

 

She nodded and looked gravely at Steven. "Where have you been?" she asked.

 

"No place," Steven replied. "I was thinking, that's all."

 

"I see you've managed to soak your feet."

 

Steven lifted one of his sodden brown boots and looked down at the muddy slush clinging to it. "The snow's wetter than I thought," he apologized.

 

"Does wearing that thing really make you feel better?" Mister Wolf asked, pointing at the sword Steven always wore now.

 

"Everybody keeps saying how dangerous Flaxia is," Steven explained. "Besides, I need to get used to it." He shifted the creaking new leather sword belt around until the wirebound hilt was not so obvious. The sword had been a Festivale present from Amethyst, one of several gifts he had received when the holiday had passed while they were at sea.

 

"It doesn't really suit you, you know," the old man told him somewhat disapprovingly.

 

"Leave him alone, father," Aunt Pearl said almost absently. "It's his, after all, and he can wear it if he likes."

 

"Shouldn't Ruby be here by now?" Steven asked, wanting to change the subject.

 

"She may have run into deep snow in the mountains of Delmarvia," Wolf replied. "She'll be here. Ruby’s very dependable."

 

"I don't see why we just didn't buy horses in Canaar."

 

"They wouldn't have been as good," Mister Wolf answered, scratching at his short, white beard. "We've got a long way to go, and I don't want to have to worry about a horse foundering under me somewhere along the way. It's a lot better to take a little time now than to lose more time later."

 

Steven reached back and rubbed at his neck where the chain of the curiously carved pink quartz amulet Wolf and Aunt Pearl had given him on the day of the Festivale had chafed his skin.

 

"Don't worry at it, dear," Aunt Pearl told him.

 

"I wish you'd let me wear it outside my clothes," he complained. "Nobody can see it under my tunic."

 

"It has to be next to your skin."

 

"It's not very comfortable. It looks nice enough, I suppose, but sometimes it seems cold, and other times it's hot, and once in a while it seems to be awfully heavy. The chain keeps rubbing at my neck. I guess I'm not used to ornaments."

 

"It's not entirely an ornament, dear," she told him. "You'll get used to it in time."

 

Wolf laughed. "Maybe it will make you feel better to know that it took your Aunt ten years to get used to hers. I was forever telling her to put it back on."

 

"I had to fashion mine into a circlet," Aunt Pearl answered coolly. “That was a much better fit for me.”

 

"Do you have one, too?" Steven asked the old man, suddenly curious about it.

 

"Well, yes. I wear it from time to time."

 

"Does it mean something that we all wear them?"

 

"It's a family custom, Steven," Aunt Pearl told him in a tone that ended the discussion.

 

 

The fog eddied around them as a chill, damp breeze briefly swirled through the ruins.

 

Steven sighed. "I wish Ruby would get here. I'd like to get away from this place. It's like a graveyard."

 

"It wasn't always this way," Aunt Pearl said very quietly.

 

"What was it like?"

 

"I was happy here. The walls were high, and the towers soared. We all thought it would last forever." She pointed toward a rank patch of winter-browned brambles creeping over the broken stones. "Over there was a flower-filled garden where ladies in pale yellow dresses used to sit while young men sang to them from beyond the garden wall. The voices of the young men were very sweet, and the ladies would sigh and throw bright red roses over the wall to them. And down that avenue was a marble-paved square where the old men met to talk of forgotten wars and long-gone companions. Beyond that there was a house with a terrace where I used to sit with friends in the evening to watch the stars come out while a boy brought us chilled fruit and the nightingales sang as if their hearts were breaking." Her voice drifted off into silence. "But then the Tusconians came," she went on, and there was a different note then. "You'd be surprised at how little time it takes to tear down something that took a thousand years to build."

 

"Don't worry at it, Pearl," Wolf told her. "These things happen from time to time. There's not a great deal we can do about it."

 

"I could have done something, Father," she replied, her eyes gazing distantly  into the ruins. "But you wouldn't let me, remember?"

 

"Do we have to go over that again, Pearl?" Wolf asked in a pained voice. "You have to learn to accept your losses. The Volunite Flaxen were doomed anyway. At best, you'd have only been able to stall off the inevitable for a few months. We're not who we are and what we are in order to get mixed up in things that don't have any meaning."

 

"So you said before." She looked around at the filmy trees marching away in the fog down the empty streets. "I didn't think the rose bushes would come back so fast," she said with a strange little catch in her voice. "I thought they might have waited a little longer."

 

"It's been almost twenty-five centuries, Pearl."

 

"Really? It seems like only last year."

 

"Don't brood about it. It'll only make you melancholy. Why don't we go inside? The fog's beginning to make us all a bit moody."

 

Unaccountably, Aunt Pearl put her arm about Steven's shoulders as they turned toward the tower. Her fragrance and the sense of her closeness brought a lump to his throat. The distance that had grown between them in the past few months seemed to vanish at her touch.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The chamber in the base of the tower had been built of such massive stones that neither the passage of centuries nor the silent, probing tendrils of tree roots had been able to dislodge them. Great, shallow arches supported the low stone ceiling, making the room seem almost like a cave. At the end of the room opposite the narrow doorway a wide crack between two of the rough-hewn blocks provided a natural chimney. Bismuth had soberly considered the crack the previous evening when they had arrived, cold and wet, and then had quickly constructed a crude but efficient fireplace out of rubble.

 

"It will serve," the smith had said. "Not very elegant perhaps, but good enough for a few days."

 

As Wolf, Steven and Aunt Pearl entered the low, cavelike chamber, a good fire crackled in the fireplace, casting looming shadows among the low arches and radiating a welcome warmth. Bismuth in his brown leather tunic was stacking firewood along the wall.

 

Amethyst in her huge form, lilac-haired, and mail-shined, was polishing her sword. Vidalia, in an unbleached linen shirt and black leather waistcoat, lounged idly on one of the packs, toying with a pair of dice.

 

"Any sign of Ruby yet?" Amethyst asked, looking up.

 

"It's a day or so early," Mister Wolf replied, going to the fireplace to warm himself.

 

"Why don't you change your boots, Steven?" Aunt Pearl suggested, hanging her blue cloak on one of the pegs Bismuth had hammered into a crack in the wall.

 

Steven lifted his pack down from another peg and began rummaging through it.

 

"Your stockings, too," she added.

 

"Is the fog lifting at all?" V asked Mister Wolf.

 

"Not a chance."

 

"If I can persuade you all to move out from in front of the fire, I'll see about supper," Aunt Pearl told them, suddenly very businesslike. She began setting out a ham, a few loaves of dark, peasant bread, a sack of dried peas and a dozen or so leathery-looking carrots, humming softly to herself as she always did when she was cooking.

 

The next morning after breakfast, Steven pulled on a fleece-lined overvest, belted on his sword, and went back out into the fog-muffled ruins to watch for Ruby. It was a task to which he had appointed himself, and he was grateful that none of his friends had seen fit to tell him that it wasn't really necessary. As he trudged through the slush-covered streets toward the broken west gate of the city, he made a conscious effort to avoid the melancholy brooding that had blackened the previous day. Since there was absolutely nothing he could do about his circumstances, chewing on them would only leave a sour taste in his mouth. He was not exactly cheerful when he reached the low piece of wall by the west gate, but he was not precisely gloomy either.

 

The wall offered some protection, but the damp chill still crept through his clothes, and his feet were already cold. He shivered and settled down to wait. There was no point in trying to see any distance in the fog, so he concentrated on listening. His ears began to sort out the sounds in the forest beyond the wall, the drip of water from the trees, the occasional sodden thump of snow sliding from the limbs, and the tapping of a woodpecker working on a dead snag several hundred yards away.

 

 

"That's my cow," a voice said suddenly from somewhere off in the fog.

Steven froze and stood silently, listening.

 

"Keep her in your own pasture, then," another voice replied shortly. "Is that you, Lamar?" the first voice asked.

"Right. You're Devon, aren't you?"

"I didn't recognize you. How longs it been?"

"Four or five years, I suppose," Lamar judged.

"How are things going in your village?" Devon asked.

"We're hungry. The taxes took all our food."

"Ours too. We've been eating boiled tree roots."

"We haven't tried that yet. We're eating our shoes."

"How's your wife?" Devon asked politely.

"She died last year," Lamar answered in a flat, unemotional voice. "My lord took our son for a soldier, and he was killed in a battle somewhere. They poured boiling pitch on him. After that my wife stopped eating. It didn't take her long to die."

"I'm sorry," Devon sympathized. "She was very beautiful."

"They're both better off," Lamar declared. "They aren't cold or hungry anymore. Which kind of tree roots have you been eating?"

"Birch is the best," Devon told him. "Spruce has too much pitch, and oak's too tough. You boil some grass with the roots to give them a bit of flavor."

"I'll have to try it."

"I've got to get back," Devon said. "My lord's got me clearing trees, and he'll have me flogged if I stay away too long."

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"If we both live."

"Good-bye, Devon."

"Good-bye, Lamar."

 

 

The two voices drifted away. Steven stood quite still for a long time after they were gone, his mind numb with shock and with tears of sympathy standing in his eyes. The worst part of it was the matter-of fact way in which the two had accepted it all. A terrible anger began to burn in his throat. He wanted suddenly to hit somebody.

 

Then there was another sound off in the fog. Somewhere in the forest nearby someone was singing. The voice was a light, clear tenor, and Steven could hear it quite plainly as it drew closer. The song was filled with ancient wrongs, and the refrain was a call to battle. Irrationally, Steven's anger focused on the unknown singer. His vapid bawling about abstract injustices seemed somehow obscene in the face of the quiet despair of Lamar and Devon. Without thinking, Steven drew his sword and crouched slightly behind the shattered wall.

 

The song came yet nearer, and Steven could hear the step of a horse's hooves in the wet snow. Carefully he poked his head out from behind the wall as the singer appeared out of the fog no more than twenty paces away. He was a young man dressed in a pearly white hose, cut with gold trimmings and a resplendent red jerkin. His black fur-lined cloak was tossed back, and he had a long, curved bow slung over one shoulder and a well-sheathed sword at his opposite hip.

 

His maple-brown hair bunched in a sort of bush down one side of his face from beneath a pointed cap with a feather rising from it. Although his song was grim and he sang it in a voice throbbing with passion, there was about his youthful face a kind of friendly openness that no amount of scowling could erase. Steven glared at this empty-headed young nobleman, quite certain that the singing fool had never made a meal of tree roots or mourned the passing of a wife who had starved herself to death out of grief. The stranger turned his horse and, still singing, rode directly toward the broken arch of the gateway beside which Steven lurked in ambush.

 

Steven was not normally a belligerent boy, and under other circumstances he might have approached the situation differently. The gaudy young stranger, however, had presented himself at precisely the wrong time. Steven's quickly devised plan had the advantage of simplicity. Since there was nothing to complicate it, it worked admirably - up to a point. No sooner had the lyrical young man passed through the gate than Steven stepped from his hiding place, grasped the back of the rider's cloak and yanked him bodily out of the saddle.

 

With a startled outcry and a wet splat, the stranger landed unceremoniously on his back in the slush at Steven's feet. The second part of Steven's plan, however, fell completely apart. Even as he moved in to take the fallen rider prisoner at sword point, the young man rolled, came to his feet, and drew his own sword, seemingly all in one motion. His eyes were seething with anger, and his sword weaved threateningly.

 

Steven was not a fencer, but his reflexes were good and the chores he had performed at Alger's farm had hardened his muscles. Despite the anger which had moved him to attack in the first place, he had no real desire to hurt this young man. His opponent seemed to be holding his sword lightly, almost negligently, and Steven thought that a smart blow on the blade might very well knock it out of his hand. He swung quickly, but the blade flicked out of the path of his heavy swipe and clashed with a steely ring down on his own sword. Steven jumped back and made another clumsy swing. The swords rang again. Then the air was filled with clash and scrape and bell-like rattle as the two of them banged and parried and feinted with their blades.

It took Steven only a moment to realize that his opponent was much better at this than he was but that the young man had ignored several opportunities to strike at him. In spite of himself he began to grin in the excitement of their noisy contest. The stranger's answering grin was open, even friendly.

 

"All right, that's enough of that!" It was Mister Wolf. The old man was striding toward them with Amethyst and Vidalia close on his heels. "Just exactly what do you two think you're doing?"

 

Steven's opponent, after one startled glance, lowered his sword. "Mr Greg, sir I--" he began.

 

"Laramias," Wolf's tone was scathing, "have you lost what little sense you had to begin with?"

 

Several things clicked into place in Steven's mind simultaneously as Wolf turned on him coldly. "Well, Steven, would you like to explain this?"

 

Steven instantly decided to try guile. "Grandfather," he said, stressing the word and giving the younger stranger a quick warning look, "you didn't think we were really fighting, did you? Laramie here was just showing me how you block somebody's sword when he attacks, that's all."

 

"Really?" Wolf replied skeptically.

 

"Of course," Steven said, all innocence now. "What possible reason could there be for us to be trying to hurt each other?"

 

Laramias opened his mouth to speak, but Steven deliberately stepped on his foot.

 

"Laramie's really very good," he rushed on, putting his hand in a friendly fashion on the young man's shoulder. "He taught me a lot in just a few minutes."

 

 _“ Let it stand ”_ V’s fingers flickered at him in the minute gestures of the Q’zarnian secret language. Always keep a lie simple.

 

"The lad is an apt pupil, sir," Laramias said lamely, finally understanding.

 

"He's agile, if nothing else," Mister Wolf replied dryly. "What's the idea behind all the frippery?" He indicated Laramias's gaudy clothes. "You look like a maypole."

 

"The Gelarians had started detaining honest Tusconians for questioning," the young Flaxen explained, "and I had to pass several of their strongholds. I thought that if I dressed like one of their toadies I wouldn't be bothered."

 

"Maybe you've got better sense than I thought," Wolf conceded grudgingly. He turned to V and Amethyst.

 

"This is Laramias, son of the Baron of Wilhelm. He'll be joining us."

 

"I wanted to talk to you about that, Mr Greg," Laramias put in quickly. "My father commanded me to come here and I can't disobey him, but I'm pledged in a matter of the utmost urgency."

 

"Every young nobleman in Tuscony’s pledged in at least two or three such matters of urgency," Wolf replied. "I'm sorry, Laramias, but the matter we're involved in is much too important to be postponed while you go out to ambush a couple of Gelarian tax collectors."

 

Aunt Pearl approached them out of the fog then, with Bismuth striding protectively at her side. "What are they doing with the swords, father?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.

 

"Playing," Mister Wolf replied shortly. "Or so they say. This is Laramias. I think I've mentioned him to you."

 

Aunt Pearl looked Laramias up and down with one raised eyebrow. "A very colorful young man."

 

"The clothes are a disguise," Wolf explained. "He's not as frivolous as all that - not quite, anyway. He's the best bowman in Tuscony, and we might need his skill before we're done with all this."

 

"I see," she said, somewhat unconvinced.

 

"There's another reason, of course," Wolf continued, "but I don't think we need to get into that just now, do we?"

 

"Are you still worried about that passage, father?" she asked with exasperation. "The Marin Codex is very obscure, and none of the other versions say anything at all about the people it mentions. It could be pure allegory, you know."

 

"I've seen a few too many allegories turn out to be plain fact to start gambling at this point. Why don't we all go back to the tower?" he suggested. "It's a bit cold and wet out here for lengthy debates on textual variations."

 

Steven glanced at Vidalia, baffled by this exchange, but the little woman returned his look with blank incomprehension.

 

"Will you help me catch my horse, Steven?" Laramias asked politely, sheathing his sword.

 

"Of course," Steven replied, also putting away his weapon. "I think he went that way."

 

Laramias picked up his bow, and the two of them followed the horse's tracks off into the ruins.

 

"I'm sorry I pulled you off your horse, Laramias" Steven apologized when they were out of sight of the others.

 

"Call me Lars." Laramias laughed easily. "And it’s all right. I should have been paying more attention." He looked quizzically at Steven. "Why did you lie to Gregarion?"

 

"It wasn't exactly a lie," Steven replied. "We weren't really trying to hurt each other, and sometimes it takes hours trying to explain something like that."

 

Lars laughed again, an infectious sort of laugh. In spite of himself, Steven could not help joining in.

Both laughing, they continued together down an overgrown street between the low mounds of slush-covered rubble.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise! Lars has been introduced. I thought to keep things interesting by including another canon character into the mix.


	3. Here Lies The Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Pearl lay out the full scope of their mission, as Ruby arrives with their reinforcements. A grim destiny awaits them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I took some creative liberties with Lars's personality, but please don't hate me! I just finished rewatching The New Lars and I wanted to spin a storyline where he's more cheerful and upbeat 24/7.
> 
> God knows this story needs it.

**LARAMIAS OF WILHELM WAS EIGHTEEN** years old, although his ingenuous nature made him seem more boyish. No emotion touched him that did not instantly register in his expression, and sincerity shone in his face like a beacon. He was impulsive, extravagant in his declarations, and probably, Steven reluctantly concluded, not overly bright. It was impossible not to like him, however.

 

The following morning when Steven pulled on his cloak to go out and continue his watch for Ruby, Lars immediately joined him. The young Flaxen had changed out of his garish clothing and now wore brown hose, a green tunic, and a dark brown wool cape. He carried his bow and wore a quiver of arrows at his belt; as they walked through the snow toward the broken west wall he amused himself by loosing arrows at targets only half visible ahead of him.

 

"You're awfully good," Steven said admiringly after one particularly fine shot.

 

"I'm a Tuscon," Lars replied modestly. "We've been bowmen for thousands of years. My father had the limbs of this bow cut on the day I was born, and I could draw it by the time I was eight."

 

"I imagine you hunt a great deal," Steven said, thinking of the dense forest all around them and the tracks of game he had seen in the snow.

 

"It's our most common pastime." Lars stopped to pull the arrow he had just shot from a tree trunk. "My father prides himself on the fact that beef or mutton are never served at his table."

 

"I went hunting once, in Wy-Ate."

 

"Deer?" Lars asked.

 

"No. Wild boars. We didn't use bows though. The Wy-Atians hunt with spears."

 

"Spears? How can you get close enough to kill anything with a spear?"

 

Steven laughed a bit ruefully, remembering his bruised ribs and aching head. "Getting close isn't the problem. It's getting away after you've speared him that's the difficult part."

 

Lars didn't seem to grasp that.

 

"The huntsmen form a line," Steven explained, "and they crash through the woods, making as much noise as they can. You take your spear and wait where the boars are likely to pass when they try to get away from the noise. Being chased makes them bad-tempered, and when they see you, they charge. That's when you spear them."

 

"Isn't that dangerous?" Lars's eyes were wide.

 

Steven nodded. "I almost got all my ribs broken." He was not exactly boasting, but he admitted to himself that he was pleased by Lars's reaction to his story.

 

"We don't have many dangerous animals in Tuscony," Lars said almost wistfully. "A few bears and once in a while a pack of wolves." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking closely at Steven. "Some men, though, find more interesting things to shoot at than wild stags." He said it with a kind of secretive sidelong glance.

 

"Oh?" Steven was not quite sure what he meant.

 

"Hardly a day goes by that some Gelarian’s horse doesn't come home riderless."

 

Steven was shocked at that.

 

"Some men think that there are too many Gelarians in Tuscony," Lars explained with heavy emphasis.

 

"I thought that the Flaxen civil war was over."

 

"There are many who don't believe that. There are many who believe that the war will continue until Tuscony is free of the Gelarite crown." Lars's tone left no question as to where he stood in the matter.

 

"Wasn't the country unified after the Battle of I’chir Gelar?" Steven objected.

 

**_"Unified?”_ **  he spat. “How could anybody believe that? Tuscony is treated like a subject province. The king's court is at I’chir Gelar; every governor, every tax collector, every bailiff, every high sheriff in the kingdom is a Gelarian. There's not a single Tusconian in a position of authority anywhere in Flaxia. The Gelarians even refuse to recognize our titles. My father, whose line extends back a thousand years, is called  **_landowner_ ** . A Gelarite would sooner bite out his tongue than call him Baron." Lars's face had gone white with suppressed indignation.

 

"I didn't know that," Steven said carefully, not sure how to handle the young man's feelings.

 

"Tuscony’s humiliation is almost at an end, however," Lars declared fervently. "There are some men in Tuscony for whom patriotism is not dead, and the time is not far off when these men will hunt royal game." 

 

He emphasized his statement by snapping an arrow at a distant tree.

 

That confirmed the worst of Steven's fears. Lars was a bit too familiar with the details not to be involved in this plot.

 

As if he had realized himself that he had gone too far, Lars stared at Steven with consternation. "I'm a fool," he blurted with a guilty look around him. "I've never learned to control my tongue. Please forget what I just said, Steven. I know you're my friend, and I know you won't betray what I said in a moment of heat."

 

That was the one thing Steven had feared. With that single statement, Lars had effectively  _ sealed _ his lips. He knew that Mister Wolf should be warned that some wild scheme was afoot, but Lars's declaration of friendship and trust had made it impossible for him to speak. He wanted to grind his teeth with frustration as he stared full in the face of a major moral dilemma.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

They walked on, neither of them speaking and both a little embarrassed, until they reached the bit of wall where Steven had waited in ambush the day before. For a time they stared out into the fog, their strained silence growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

 

"What's it like in Delmarvia?" Lars asked suddenly. "I've never been there."

 

"There aren't so many trees," Steven answered, looking over the wall at the dark trunks marching off in the fog. "It's an orderly kind of place."

 

"Where did you live there?"

 

"At Alger’s farm. It's near Lake Eva."

 

"Is this Alger a nobleman?"

 

"Alger?" Steven laughed. "No, Alger’s as common as old shoes. He's just a farmer - decent, honest, good-hearted. I miss him."

 

"A commoner, then," Lars said, seeming ready to dismiss Alger as a man of no consequence.

 

"Rank doesn't mean very much in Delmarvia," Steven told him rather pointedly. "What a man does is more important than what he is." He made a wry face. "I was a scullery boy. It's not very pleasant, but somebody's got to do it, I suppose."

 

"Not a serf, certainly?" Lars sounded shocked.

 

"There aren't any serfs in Delmarvia."

 

"No serfs?" The young Flaxen stared at him uncomprehendingly.

 

"No," Steven said firmly. "We've never found it necessary to have serfs."

 

Lars's expression clearly showed that he was baffled by the notion. Steven remembered the voices that had come to him out of the fog the day before, but he resisted the urge to say something about serfdom. Lars would never understand, and the two of them were very close to friendship. Steven felt that he needed a friend just now and he didn't want to spoil things by saying something that would offend this likeable young man.

 

"What sort of work does your father do?" Lars asked politely.

 

"He's dead. So's my mother." Steven found that if he said it quickly, it didn't hurt so much.

 

Lars's eyes filled in sudden, impulsive sympathy. He put his hand consolingly on Steven's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost breaking. "It must have been a terrible loss."

 

"I was a baby." Steven shrugged, trying to sound offhand about it. "I don't even remember them." It was still too personal to talk about.

 

"Some pestilence?" Lars asked gently.

 

"No," Steven answered in the same flat tone. "They were murdered."

 

Lars gasped and his eyes went wide.

 

"A man crept into their village at night and set fire to their house," Steven continued unemotionally. "My grandfather tried to catch him, but he got away. From what I understand, the man is a very old enemy of my family."

 

"Surely you're not going to let it stand like that?" Lars demanded.

 

"No," Steven replied, still looking out into the fog. "As soon as I'm old enough, I'm going to find him and kill him."

 

"Well said!" Lars exclaimed, suddenly catching Steven in a rough embrace. "We'll find him and cut him to pieces."

 

" **_We?_ ** "

 

"I'll be going with you, of course," Lars declared. "No true friend could do any less." He was obviously speaking on impulse, but just as obviously he was totally sincere. He gripped Steven's hand firmly. "I swear to you, Steven, I won't rest until the murderer of your parents lies dead at your feet."

 

The sudden declaration was so totally predictable that Steven silently berated himself for not keeping his mouth shut. His feelings in the matter were very personal, and he was not really sure he wanted company in his search for his faceless enemy. Another part of his mind, however, rejoiced in Lars's impulsive but unquestioning support. He decided to let the subject drop. He knew Lars well enough by now to realize that the young man undoubtedly made a dozen devout promises a day, quickly offered in absolute sincerity, and just as quickly forgotten.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They talked then of other things, standing close together beside the shattered wall with their dark cloaks drawn tightly about them.

 

Shortly before noon Steven heard the muffled sound of horses' hooves somewhere out in the forest. A few minutes later, Ruby materialized out of the fog with a dozen wild-looking horses trailing after her. The tall Ainur wore a short, crimson, fleece-lined leather cape. Her boots were mud-spattered and her clothes travel-stained, but otherwise she seemed unaffected by her two weeks in the saddle.

 

"Steven," she said gravely by way of greeting and Steven and Lars stepped out to meet him.

 

"We've been waiting for you," Steven told her and introduced Lars. "We'll show you where the others are."

 

Ruby nodded and followed the two young men through the ruins to the tower where Mister Wolf and the others were waiting. 

"Snow in the mountains," the Ainur remarked laconically by way of explanation as she swung down from her horse. "It delayed me a bit." She pulled her hat off of her head, revealing a puffy black cloud of unshaven hair. It was almost comical, how unnatural it looked on her head.

 

"No harm's been done," Mister Wolf replied. "Come inside to the fire and have something to eat. We've got a lot to talk about."

 

Ruby looked at the horses, her tan, weathered face growing strangely blank as if she were concentrating. Steven thought he saw her gem glow ever so slightly in her left hand, but dismissed it as the glint of the nearby firelight.

The horses all looked back at her, their eyes alert and their ears pointed sharply forward. Then they turned and picked their way off among the trees.

 

"Won't they stray?" Bismuth wanted to know.

 

"No," Ruby answered. "I asked them not to."

 

Bismuth looked puzzled, but he let it pass.

 

They all went into the tower and sat near the fireplace. Aunt Pearl cut dark bread and pale, yellow cheese for them while Bismuth put more wood on the fire.

 

"Evan sent word to the Clan-Chiefs," Ruby reported, pulling off her cape. She wore a faded red, long-sleeved horsehide jacket with steel discs riveted to it to form a kind of flexible armor. "They're gathering at the Stronghold for council." She unbelted her rack of throwing knives, laid it to one side and sat near the fire to eat.

 

Wolf nodded. "Is anyone trying to get through to Diophe?"

 

"I sent a troop of my own men to the Phenom before I left," Ruby responded. "They'll get through if anyone can."

 

"I hope so," Wolf stated. "The Phenom’s an old friend of mine, and I'll need his help before all this is finished."

 

"Aren't your people afraid of the Land of the Phenai?" Lars inquired politely. "I've heard that there are monsters there that feed on the flesh of men."

 

Ruby shrugged. "They stay in their lairs in the wintertime. Besides, they're seldom brave enough to attack a full troop of mounted men." He looked over at Mister Wolf. "Southern Delmarvia’s crawling with Isyaki. Or did you know that?"

 

"I could have guessed," Wolf replied. "Did they seem to be looking for anything in particular?"

 

"I don't talk with Isyaki," Ruby said shortly. Her sharp gaze and burning cold eyes made her look at that moment like a hawk about to swoop down to the kill.

 

"I'm surprised you weren't delayed even more," V bantered. "The whole world knows how you feel about Isyaki."

 

"I indulged myself once," Ruby admitted. "I met two of them alone on the highway. It didn't take very long."

 

"Two less to worry about, then," Amethyst grunted with approval.

 

"I think it's time for some plain talk," Mister Wolf said, brushing crumbs off the front of his tunic. "Most of you have some notion of what we're doing, but I don't want anybody blundering into something by accident. We're after a man named Andarion. He used to be one of my Master's disciples - then he took the Black. Early last fall he somehow slipped into the throne room at Hrodenheim and stole the The Grey Ward. We're going to chase him down and get it back."

 

"Isn't he a sorcerer too?" Amethyst asked, tugging absently at a thick lilac braid.

 

"That's not the term we use," Wolf replied, "but yes, he does have a certain amount of that kind of power. We all did - me, Rutilion and Rukilion, Andarion - all the rest of us. That's one of the things I wanted to warn you about."

 

"You all seem to have the same sort of names," V noticed.

 

"Our Master changed our names when she took us as disciples. It was a simple change, but it meant a great deal to us."

 

"Wouldn't that mean that your original name was Gregar?" V asked, her ferret eyes narrowing shrewdly.

 

Mister Wolf looked startled and then laughed. "I haven't heard that name for thousands of years. I've been Gregarion for so long that I'd almost completely forgotten Gregar. It's probably just as well. Greg was a troublesome boy - a thief and a liar among other things."

 

"Some things never change," Aunt Pearl observed.

 

"Nobody's perfect," Wolf admitted blandly.

 

"Why did Andarion steal the Ward?" Ruby asked, setting aside her plate.

 

"He's always wanted it for himself," the old man replied. "That could be it - but more likely he's trying to take it to Black Diamond. The one who delivers the Ward to One-Eye is going to be her favourite."

 

"But Black’s dead," Lars objected. "The Hroden Warder killed her at I’chir Gelar."

 

"No," Wolf said. "Black isn't dead; only asleep. Ophie’s sword wasn't the one destined to kill her. Andarion carried her off after the battle and hid her someplace. Someday she'll awaken - probably someday fairly soon, if I'm reading the signs right. We've got to get the Ward back before that happens."

 

"This Andarion's caused a lot of trouble," Amy rumbled. "You should have dealt with him a long time ago."

 

"Possibly," Wolf admitted.

"Why don't you just wave your hand and make him disappear?" Amethyst suggested, making a sort of gesture with her thick fingers.

 

Wolf shook his head. "I can't. Not even the  **_Diamonds_ ** can do that."

 

"We've got some big problems, then," V said with a frown. "Every Isyaki from here to Fry-Isyak’s going to try to stop us from catching Andarion."

 

"Not necessarily," Wolf disagreed. "Andarion's got the Orb, but Aquamarine commands the Marikeen."

 

"Aquamarine?" Lars asked.

 

"The Marek High Priestess. She and Andarion hate each other. I think we can count on her to try to keep Andarion from getting to Black Diamond with the Ward."

 

Amethyst shrugged. "What difference does it make? You and Polina can use magic if we run into anything difficult, can't you?"

 

"There are limitations on that sort of thing," Wolf said a bit evasively.

 

"I don't understand," Amethyst said, frowning.

 

 

Mister Wolf took a deep breath. "All right. As long as it's come up, let's go into that too. Sorcery - if that's what you want to call it - is a disruption of the natural order of things. Sometimes it has certain unexpected effects, so you have to be very careful about what you do with it. Not only that, it makes-" He frowned. "-Let's call it a sort of noise. That's not exactly what it is, but it serves well enough to explain. Others with the same abilities can hear that noise. Once Polina and I start changing things, every Marek in the West is going to know exactly where we are and what we're doing. They'll keep piling things in front of us until we're exhausted."

 

"It takes almost as much energy to do things that way as it does to do them with your arms and back," Aunt Pol explained. "It's very tiring."

 

She sat beside the fire, carefully mending a small tear in one of Steven's tunics.

 

"I didn't know that, P," Amethyst admitted.

 

"Not many people do."

 

"If we have to, Pearl and I can take certain steps," Wolf went on, "but we can't keep it up forever and we can't simply make things vanish. I'm sure you can see why."

 

"Oh, of course," V professed, though her tone indicated that she did not.

 

"Everything that exists depends on everything else," Aunt Pearl explained quietly. "If you were to unmake one thing, it's altogether possible that everything would vanish."

The fire popped, and Steven jumped slightly. The vaulted chamber seemed suddenly dark, and shadows lurked in the corners.

 

"That can't happen, of course," Wolf told them. "When you try to unmake something, your will simply recoils on you. If you say, 'Be unmade,' then you are the one who vanishes. That's why we're very careful about what we think and do.”

 

“Ah," Vidalia said, her eyes widening slightly.

 

"Most of the things we'll encounter can be dealt with by ordinary means," Wolf continued. "That's the reason we've brought you together - at least that's one of the reasons. Among you, you'll be able to handle most of the things that get in our way. The important thing to remember is that Polina and I have to get to Andarion before he can reach Black with the Ward. Andarion's found some way to touch the Ward - I don't know how. If he can show Black Diamond how it's done, no power on earth will be able to stop One-Eye from becoming Queen and God over the whole world."

 

They all sat in the ruddy, flickering light of the fire, their faces serious as they considered that possibility.

 

"I think that pretty well covers everything, don't you, Pearl?"

 

"I believe so, father," she replied, smoothing the front of her gray, homespun gown.

 

Later, outside the tower as gray evening crept in among the foggy ruins of I’chir Volune and the smell of the thick stew Aunt Pearl was cooking for supper drifted out to them, Steven turned to Vidalia. 

 

"Is it all really true?" he asked.

 

The diminiutive figure looked out into the fog. 

 

"Let's act as if we believed that it is," she suggested. "Under the circumstances, I think it would be a bad idea to make a mistake."

 

"Are you afraid too, V?" Steven asked.

 

Vidalia sighed. "Yes," she admitted, "but we can behave as if we believed that we aren't, can't we?"

 

"Yeah, I guess we can try," Steven said, and the two of them turned to go back into the chamber at the foot of the tower where the firelight danced on the low stone arches, holding the fog and chill at bay.

 


	4. Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their rendezvous complete, they proceed on through Flaxia in search of their quarry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise as the very passionate Lars gets Steven involved in much more than he bargained for...

**THE NEXT MORNING** Vidalia came out of the tower wearing a rich maroon doublet and a baglike black velvet cap cocked jauntily over one ear.

 

"What's all that about?" Aunt Pearl asked her.

 

"I chanced across an old friend in one of the packs," V replied airily. "Anna of Wal’kofte by name."

 

"What happened to Helena of Goku?"

 

"Helena’s a good enough fellow, I suppose," V said a bit deprecatingly, "but an Isyaki named Rohk knows about her and may have dropped her name in certain quarters. Let's not look for trouble if we don't have to."

 

"Not a bad disguise," Mister Wolf agreed. "One more Q’zarnian merchant on the Great Western Road won't attract any attention - whatever her name."

 

"Please," V objected in an injured tone. "The name's very important. You hang the whole disguise on the name."

 

"Sounds the same to me," Amethyst asserted bluntly. “I don’t see any difference.”

 

"There's all the difference in the world. Surely you can see that Helena’s a vagabond with very little regard for ethics, while Anna’s a lady of substance whose word is good in all the commercial centers of the West. Besides, Anna’s always accompanied by servants."

 

 **_"Servants?"_ ** One of Aunt Pearl's eyebrows shot up.

 

"Just for the sake of the disguise," V assured her quickly. "You, of course, could never be a servant, Lady Polina."

 

"Thank you."

 

"No one would ever believe it. You'll be my sister instead, traveling with me to see the splendors of Tol Harith."

 

"Your **_sister_ **?"

 

"You could be my mother instead, if you prefer," V suggested blandly, "making a religious pilgrimage to Laz Zellan to atone for a colorful past."

 

Aunt Pearl gazed steadily at the small man for a moment while he grinned impudently at her. "Someday your sense of humor's going to get you into a great deal of trouble, Princess Vidalia."

 

"I'm **_always_ ** in trouble, Lady Polina. I wouldn't know how to act if I weren't."

 

"Do you two suppose we could get started?" Mister Wolf asked.

 

"Just a moment more," V replied. "If we meet anyone and have to explain things, you, Laramie, and Steven are Polina’s servants. Ruby, Amy, and Bismuth are mine."

 

"Anything you say," Wolf agreed wearily.

 

"There are reasons."

 

"All right."

 

"Don't you want to hear them?"

 

"Not particularly."

 

Vidalia looked a bit hurt.

 

"Are we ready?" Wolf asked.

 

"Everything's out of the tower," Bismuth told him. "Oh just a moment. I forgot to put out the fire." He went back inside.

 

Wolf glanced after the smith in exasperation. "What difference does it make?" he muttered. "This place is a ruin anyway."

 

"Leave him alone, father," Aunt Pearl said placidly. "It's the way he is."

 

As they prepared to mount, Amy’s horse, a large, sturdy gray stallion, sighed and threw a reproachful look at Ruby, and the gem chuckled.

 

"What's so funny?" Amethyst demanded suspiciously.

 

"The horse said something funny," Ruby replied, stifling a laugh. "Never mind."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Then they swung into their saddles and threaded their way out of the foggy ruins and along the narrow, muddy track that wound into the forest. Sodden snow lay under wet trees, and water dripped continually from the branches overhead. They all drew their cloaks about them to ward off the chill and dampness.

 

Once they were under the trees, Lars pulled his horse in beside Steven’s, and they rode together.

 

"Is Princess Vidalia always so - well - extremely complicated?" he asked.

 

"V? Oh yes. She's very devious. You see, she's a spy, and disguises and clever lies are second nature to her."

 

"A spy? Really?" Lars’s eyes brightened as his imagination caught hold of the idea.

 

"She works for her uncle, the King of Q’zarnia," Steven explained. "From what I understand, the Q’zarnians have been at this sort of thing for centuries."

 

"We've got to stop and pick up the rest of the packs," V was reminding Mister Wolf.

 

"I haven't forgotten," the old man replied.

 

"Packs?" Lars asked.

 

"V picked up some wool cloth in Canaar," Steven told him. "He said it would give us a legitimate reason to be on the highway. We hid them in a cave when we left the road to come to I’chir Volune."

 

"She thinks of everything, doesn't she?"

 

"She tries. We're lucky to have her with us."

 

"Maybe we could have her show us a few things about disguises," Lars suggested brightly. "It might be very useful when we go looking for your enemy."

 

 

Steven had thought that Lars had forgotten his impulsive pledge. The young Flaxen’s mind seemed too flighty to keep hold of one idea for very long, but he saw now that Lars only **_seemed_ ** to forget things. The prospect of a serious search for his parents' murderer with this young enthusiast adding embellishments and improvisations at every turn began to present itself alarmingly.

 

By midmorning, after they had picked up V’s packs and lashed them to the backs of the spare horses, they were back out on the Great West Road, the Shwarean highway running through the heart of the forest. They rode south at a loping canter that ate up the miles.

 

They passed a heavily burdened serf clothed in scraps and pieces of sackcloth tied on with bits of string. The serf's face was gaunt, and he was very thin under his dirty rags. He stepped off the road and stared at them with apprehension until they had passed. Steven felt a sudden stab of compassion. He briefly remembered Lamar and Devon, and he wondered what would finally happen to them. It seemed important for some reason.

 

"Is it really necessary to keep them so poor?" he demanded of Lars, unable to hold it in any longer.

 

"Who?" Lars asked, looking around.

 

"That serf."

 

Lars glanced back over his shoulder at the ragged man. "You didn't even see him," Steven accused.

 

Lars shrugged. "There are so many."

 

"And they all dress in rags and live on the edge of starvation."

 

"Gelarite taxes," Lars replied as if that explained everything.

 

"You seem to have always had enough to eat."

 

"I'm not a serf, Steven," Lars answered patiently. "The poorest people always suffer the most. It's the way the world is."

 

"It doesn't have to be," Steven retorted.

 

"You just don't understand."

 

"No. And I never will."

 

"Naturally not," Lars said with infuriating complacency. "You're not Flax."

 

Steven clenched his teeth to hold back the obvious reply.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

By late afternoon they had covered ten leagues, and the snow had largely disappeared from the roadside.

 

"Shouldn't we start to give some thought to where we're going to spend the night, father?" Aunt Pearl suggested.

 

Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard as he squinted at the shadows hovering in the trees around them.

 

"I have an uncle who lives not far from here," Lars offered, "Count Vergil. I'm sure he'll be glad to give us shelter."

 

"Thin?" Mister Wolf asked. "Dark hair and a wispy beard?"

 

"It's gray now," Lars replied. "Do you know him?"

 

"I haven't seen him for twenty years," Wolf told him. "As I recall, he used to be quite a hothead."

 

"Uncle Vergil? You must have him confused with somebody else, Mr Greg."

 

"Maybe," Wolf said. "How far is it to his house?"

 

"No more than a league and a half away."

 

"Let's go see him," Wolf decided.

 

Lars shook his reins and moved into the lead to show them the way.

 

 

 

 

"How are you and your friend getting along?" V asked, falling in beside Steven.

 

"Fine, I suppose," Steven replied, not quite sure how the weasel-like little lady intended the question. "It seems to be a little hard to explain things to him though."

 

"That's only natural," V observed. "He's a Flax, after all."

 

Steven quickly came to Lars's defense. "He's honest and very brave."

 

"They all are. That's part of the problem."

 

"I like him," Steven asserted.

 

"So do I, Steven, but that doesn't keep me from realizing the truth about him."

 

"If you're trying to say something, why don't you just go ahead and say it?"

 

"All right, I will. Don't let friendship get the better of your good sense. Flaxia’s a very dangerous place, and Flaxen tend to blunder into disasters quite regularly. Don't let your exuberant young companion drag you into something that's none of your business." V’s look was direct, and Steven realized that the little woman was quite serious.

 

"I'll be careful," he promised.

 

"I know you will be," V said gravely.

 

"Are you making fun of me?"

 

"Would I do that, Steven?" V asked mockingly. Then she laughed and they rode on together through the gloomy afternoon.

 

\--------------------------

 

The gray stone house of Count Vergil was about a mile back in the forest from the highway, and it stood in the center of a clearing that extended beyond bowshot in every direction.

 

Although it had no wall, it had somehow the look of a fort. The windows facing out were narrow and covered with iron gratings. Strong turrets surmounted by battlements stood at each corner, and the gate which opened into the central courtyard of the house was made of whole tree trunks, squared off and strapped together with iron bands. Steven stared at the brooding pile as they approached in the rapidly fading light. There was a kind of haughty ugliness about the house, a grim solidity that seemed to defy the world.

 

"It's not a very pleasant-looking sort of place, is it?" he said to V.

 

"Tusconian architecture's a reflection of their society," V replied. "A strong house isn't a bad idea in a country where neighborhood disputes sometimes get out of hand."

 

"Are they all so afraid of each other?"

 

"Just cautious, Steven. Just cautious."

 

Lars dismounted before the heavy gate and spoke to someone on the other side through a small grill. There was finally a rattling of chains and the grinding sound of heavy, iron-shod bars sliding back.

 

"I wouldn't make any quick moves once we're inside," V advised quietly. "There'll probably be archers watching us."

 

Steven looked at him sharply.

 

"A quaint custom of the region," V informed him.

 

They rode into a cobblestoned courtyard and dismounted.

 

Count Vergil, when he appeared, was a tall, thin man with iron-gray hair and beard who walked with the aid of a stout cane. He wore a rich green doublet and black hose; despite the fact that he was in his own house, he carried a sword at his side. He limped heavily down a broad flight of stairs from the house to greet them.

 

"Uncle," Lars said, bowing respectfully.

 

"Nephew," the count replied in polite acknowledgment.

 

"My friends and I found ourselves in the vicinity," Lars stated, "and we thought we might impose on you for the night."

 

"You're always welcome, nephew," Vergil answered with a kind of grave formality. "Have you dined yet?"

 

"No, uncle."

 

"Then you must all take supper with me. May I know your friends?"

 

Mister Wolf pushed back his hood and stepped forward. "You and I are already acquainted, Vergil," he said.

 

The count's eyes widened. "Gregarion? Is it really you?"

 

Wolf grinned. "Oh, yes. I'm still wandering about the world, stirring up mischief."

 

Vergil laughed then and grasped Wolf's upper arm warmly. "Come inside, all of you. Let's not stand about in the cold." He turned and limped up the steps to the house.

 

"What happened to your leg?" Wolf asked him.

 

"Ah, I took an arrow to the knee," The count shrugged. "On account of some petty disagreement, though I can’t remember what it was we were fighting over.”

 

"As I recall, you used to get involved in quite a few of those. I thought for a while that you intended to go through life with your sword half drawn."

 

"I was an excitable youth," the count admitted, opening the broad door at the top of the steps.

 

He led them down a long hallway to a room of imposing size with a large blazing fireplace at each end. Great curving stone arches supported the ceiling. The floor was of polished black stone, scattered with fur rugs, and the walls, arches, and ceiling were whitewashed in gleaming contrast. Heavy, carved chairs of dark brown wood sat here and there, and a great table with an iron candelabra in its center stood near the fireplace at one end. A dozen or so leather-bound books were scattered on its polished surface.

 

"Books, Vergil?" Mister Wolf said in amazement as he and the others removed their cloaks and gave them to the servants who immediately appeared. "You have mellowed, my friend."

 

The count smiled at the old man's remark.

 

"I'm forgetting my manners," Wolf apologized. "My daughter, Polina. Pearl, this is Count Vergil, an old friend."

 

"My Lady," the count acknowledged with an exquisite bow, "my house is honored."

 

Aunt Pearl was about to reply when two young men burst into the room, arguing heatedly.

 

 

"You're an idiot, Bernadotte!" the first, a darkhaired youth in a scarlet doublet, snapped.

 

"It may please thee to think so, Tygoras," the second, a stout young man with pale, curly hair and wearing a green and yellow striped tunic, replied, "but whether it please thee or not, Tuscony’s future is in Gelarian hands. Thy rancorous denouncements and sulfurous rhetoric shall not alter that fact."

 

"Don't thee me or thou me, Bernadotte," the dark-haired one sneered. "Your imitation Gelarite courtesy turns my stomach."

 

"Gentlemen, that's enough!" Count Vergil said sharply, rapping his cane on the stone floor. "If you two are going to insist on discussing politics, I'll have you separated - forcibly, if necessary."

 

The two young men scowled at each other and then stalked off to opposite sides of the room. "My son, Tygoras," the count admitted apologetically, indicating the dark-haired youth, "and his cousin Bernadotte, the son of my late wife's brother. They've been wrangling like this for two weeks now. I had to take their swords away from them the day after Bernadotte arrived."

 

"Political discussion is good for the blood, my Lord," V observed, "especially in the winter. The heat keeps the veins from clogging up."

 

The count chuckled at the little woman's remark.

 

"Princess Vidalia of the royal house of Q’zarnia," Mister Wolf introduced V.

"Your Highness," the count responded, bowing.

 

Vidalia winced slightly. "Please, my Lord. I've spent a lifetime running from that mode of address, and I'm sure that my connection with the royal family embarrasses my uncle almost as much as it embarrasses me."

 

The count laughed again with easy good nature. "Why don't we all adjourn to the dining table?" he suggested. "Two fat deer have been turning on spits in my kitchen since daybreak, and I recently obtained a cask of red wine from southern Shwar. As I recall, Gregarion has always had a great fondness for good food and fine wines."

 

"He hasn't changed, my Lord," Aunt Pearl told him. "My father's terribly predictable, once you get to know him."

 

The count smiled and offered her his arm as they all moved toward a door on the far side of the room.

 

"Tell me, my Lord," Aunt Pearl said, "do you by chance have a bathtub in your house?"

 

"Bathing in winter is dangerous, Lady Polina," the count warned her.

 

"My Lord," she stated gravely, "I've been bathing winter or summer for more years than you could possibly imagine."

 

"Let her bathe, Vergil," Mister Wolf urged. "Her temper deteriorates quite noticeably when she thinks she's getting dirty."

 

"A bath wouldn't hurt you either, Old Wolf," Aunt Pearl retorted tartly. "You're starting to get a bit strong from the downwind side."

 

Mister Wolf looked a bit injured.

 

\---------------------------

 

Much later, after they had eaten their fill of venison, gravy-soaked bread, and rich cherry tarts, Aunt Pearl excused herself and went with a maidservant to oversee the preparation of her bath. The men all lingered at the table over their wine cups, their faces washed with the golden light of the many candles in Vergil's dining hall.

 

"Let me show you to your rooms," Tygoras suggested to Lars and Steven, pushing back his chair and casting a look of veiled contempt across the table at Bernadotte.

 

They followed him from the room and up a long flight of stairs toward the upper stories of the house. "I don't want to offend you, Tyg," Lars said as they climbed, "but your cousin has some peculiar ideas."

 

Tygoras snorted. "Bernadotte's a jackass. He thinks he can impress the Gelarites by imitating their speech and by fawning on them." His dark face was angry in the light of the candle he carried to light their way.

 

"Why should he want to?" Lars asked.

 

"He's desperate for some kind of holding he can call his own," Tygoras replied. "My mother's brother has very little land to leave him. The fat idiot's all calf eyed over the daughter of one of the barons in his district, and since the baron won't even consider a landless suitor, Bernadotte's trying to wheedle an estate from the Gelarite governor. He'd swear fealty to the ghost of Black Diamond herself, if he thought it would get him land."

 

"Doesn't he realize that he hasn't got a chance?" Lars inquired. "There are too many land-hungry Gelarite knights around the governor for him to even think of granting an estate to an Tusconian."

 

"I've told him the same thing myself," Tygoras declared with scathing contempt, "but there's no reasoning with him. His behavior degrades our whole family."

 

Lars shook his head commiseratingly as they reached an upper hall. He looked around quickly then. "I have to talk with you, Tyg," he blurted, his voice dropping to a whisper.

 

Tygoras looked at him sharply.

 

"My father's committed me to Gregarion's service in a matter of great importance," Lars hurried on in that same hushed voice. "I don't know how long we'll be gone, so you and the others will have to kill Lavirintos without me."

 

Tygoras's eyes went wide with horror. " **_We're not alone, Lars_ **!" he said in a strangled voice.

 

"I'll go down to the other end of the hall," Steven said quickly.

 

"No," Lars replied firmly, taking hold of Steven's arm. "Steven's my friend, Tyg. I have no secrets from him."

 

"Lars, please," Steven protested. "I'm not a Tusconian - I'm **_not even Flax_ **. I don't want to know what you're planning."

 

"But you will know, Steven, as proof of my trust in you," Lars declared. "Next summer, when King Lavirintos journeys to the ruined city of I’chir Tusca to hold court there for the six weeks that maintain the fiction of Flaxian unity, we're going to ambush him on the highway."

 

"Lars!" Tygoras gasped, his face turning white.

 

But Lars was already plunging on. "It won't be just a simple ambush, Steven. This will be a master stroke at Gelar’s heart. We're going to ambush him in the uniforms of Shwarean legionnaires and cut him down with Shwarean swords. Our attack will force Gelar to declare war on the Shwarean Empire, and Shwar will crush Gelar like an eggshell. Gelaria will be destroyed, and Tuscony **_will be free_ **!"

 

"Bokk will have you killed for this, Lars," Tygoras cried. "We've all been sworn to secrecy on a blood oath."

 

"Tell the Isyaki that I spit on his oath," Lars said hotly. "What need have Tusconian patriots for a Isyaki henchman?"

 

"He's providing us with gold, you blockhead!" Tygoras raged, almost beside himself. "We need his good red gold to buy the uniforms, the swords, and to strengthen the backbones of some of our weaker friends."

 

"I don't need weaklings with me," Lars said intensely. "A patriot does what he does for love of his country-not for Alabastian gold."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steven's mind was moving quickly now. His moment of stunned amazement had passed.

 

"There was a man in Wy-Ate," he spoke with startling suddenness. "The Earl of Jar-Vis. He also took Isyaki gold and plotted to kill a king."

 

The two stared at him blankly.

 

"Something **_happens_ ** to a country when you kill its king," Steven explained. "No matter how bad the king is or how good the people are who kill him, the country falls apart for a while. Everything is confused, and there's nobody to point the country in any one direction. Then, if you start a war between that country and another one at the same time, you add just that much more confusion. I think that if I were an Isyaki, that's exactly the kind of confusion I'd want to see in all the kingdoms of the West."

 

Steven listened to the clarity of his own thoughts in amazement. His voice carried with it a weight and power he hadn’t even begun to comprehend now.

 

There was a dry, dispassionate quality in it that he instantly recognized. From the time of his earliest memories that voice had always been there - inside his mind - occupying some quiet, hidden corner, telling him when he was wrong or foolish. But the voice had never actively interfered before in his dealings with other people. Now, however, it spoke **directly** to these two young men, patiently explaining.

 

"Alabastian gold isn't what it seems to be," he went on. "There's a kind of power in it that **_corrupts_ ** you. Maybe that's why it's the color of blood. I'd think about that before I accepted any more red gold from this Isyaki Bokk. Why do you suppose he's giving you gold and helping you with this plan of yours? He's not an Tusconian, so patriotism couldn't have anything to do with it, could it? I'd think about that, too."

 

Lars and his cousin looked suddenly troubled.

 

"I'm not going to say anything about this to anybody," Steven said. "You told me about it in confidence, and I really wasn't supposed to hear about it anyway. But remember that there's **_a lot more_ ** going on in the world right now than what's happening here in Flaxia. Now I think I'd like to get some sleep. If you'll show me where my bed is, I'll leave you to talk things over all night, if you'd like."

 

All in all, Steven thought he'd handled the whole thing rather well. He'd planted a few doubts at the very least. He knew the Flaxen well enough by now to realize that it probably wouldn't be enough to turn these two around, but it was a start.


	5. Not Without Fangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a very pleasant pit stop, The Fellowship set out on the road again, with more than a few questions than they did before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it's about time this story get another dose of pure, unadulterated violence. Seemed about that time again.

**THE FOLLOWING MORNING** they rode out early while the mist still hung among the trees.

Count Vergil, wrapped in a dark cloak, stood at his gate to bid them farewell; and Tygoras, standing beside his father, seemed unable to take his eyes off Steven's face. Steven kept his expression as blank as possible. The fiery young Tusconian seemed to be filled with doubts, and those doubts might keep him from plunging headlong into something disastrous. It wasn't much, Steven realized, but it was the best he could manage under the circumstances.

"Come back soon, Gregarion," Vergil said. "Sometime when you can stay longer. We're very isolated here, and I'd like to know what the rest of the world's doing. We'll sit by the fire and talk away a month or two.

Mister Wolf nodded gravely. "Maybe when this business of mine is over, Vergil." Then he turned his horse and led the way across the wide clearing that surrounded Vergil's house and back once again into the gloomy forest.

"The count's an unusual Flaxen," V said lightly as they rode along. "I think I actually detected an original thought or two in him last evening."

"He's changed a great deal," Wolf agreed.

"He sure had a fine spread of food," Amethyst chortled. "I haven't felt this full since I left Van Sangria."

"You should," Aunt Pearl told her. "You ate the biggest part of one deer by yourself."

"You're exaggerating, P," Amethyst said.

"But not by very much," Ruby observed in her quiet voice. Lars had pulled his horse in beside Steven's, but he had not spoken. His face was as troubled as his cousin's had been. It was obvious that he wanted to say something and just as obvious that he didn't know how to begin.

"Go ahead," Steven said quietly. "We're good enough friends that I'm not going to be upset if it doesn't come out exactly right."

Lars looked a little sheepish.

"Am I really that obvious?"

"Honest is a better word for it," Steven told him. "You've just never learned to hide your feelings, that's all."

"Was it really true?" Lars blurted. "I'm not doubting your word, but was there really an Isyaki in Wy-Ate plotting against King Thur-Man?"

"Ask V," Steven suggested, "or Amethyst, or Ruby--any of them. We were all there."

"Bokk isn't like that, though," Lars said quickly, defensively.

"Can you be sure?" Steven asked him. "The plan was his in the first place, wasn't it? How did you happen to meet him?"

"We'd all gone down to the Great Fair, Tygoras, me, several of the others. We bought some things from an Isyaki merchant, and Tyg made a few remarks about Gelarites-- you know how Tyg is. The merchant said that he knew somebody we might be interested in meeting and he introduced us to Bokk. The more we talked with him, the more sympathetic he seemed to become to the way we felt."

"Naturally."

"He told us what the king is planning. You wouldn't believe it. 

"Probably not."

Lars gave him a quick, troubled look. "He's going to break up our estates and give them to landless Gelarian nobles." He said it accusingly.

"Did you verify that with anybody but Bokk?"

"How could we? The Gelarians wouldn't admit it if we confronted them with it, but it's the kind of thing Gelarites would do."

"So you've only got Bokk's word for it? How did this plan of yours come up?"

"Bokk said that if he were a Tusconian, he wouldn't let anybody take his land, but he said that it'd be too late to try to stop them when they came with knights and soldiers. He said that if he were doing it, he'd strike before they were ready and that he'd do it in such a way that the Gelarians wouldn't know who'd done it. That's when he suggested the Shwarean uniforms."

"When did he start giving you money?"

"I'm not sure. Tyg handled that part of it."

"Did he ever say why he was giving you money?"

"He said it was out of friendship."

"Didn't that seem a little odd?"

"I'd give someone money out of friendship," Lars protested.

"You're a Tusconian," Steven told him. "You'd give somebody your life out of friendship. Bokk's an Isyaki, though, and I've never heard that they were all that generous. What it comes down to, then, is that a stranger tells you that the king's planning to take your land. Then he gives you a plan to kill the king and start a war with Shwar; and to make sure you succeed with his plan, he gives you money. Am I right on this so far?”

Lars nodded mutely, his eyes stricken.

"Weren't any of you just the least bit suspicious?"

Lars seemed almost about to cry.

"It's such a good plan," he burst out finally. "It couldn't help but succeed."

" _ **T**_ ** _hat's what makes it so dangerous,_ ** " Steven replied.

"Steven, what am I going to do?" Lars's voice was anguished.

"I don't think there's anything you can do right now," Steven told him. "Maybe later, after we've had time to think about it, we'll come up with something. If we can't, we can always tell my grandfather about it. He'll think of a way to stop it."

"We can't tell anybody," Lars reminded him. "We're pledged to silence."

"We might have to break that pledge," Steven said somewhat reluctantly. "I don't see that either of us owes that Isyaki anything, but it's going to have to be up to you. I won't say anything to anybody without your permission."

"You decide," Lars pleaded then. "I can't do it, Steven."

" _ **You're**_ going to have to," Steven told him. "I'm sure that if you think about it, you'll see why."

They reached the Great Western Road then, and Amethyst led them south at a brisk trot, cutting off the possibility of further discussion.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A league or so down the road they passed a muddy village, a dozen or so turf roofed huts with walls made of wattles plastered over with mud. The fields around the village were dotted with tree stumps, and a few scrawny cows grazed near the edge of the forest. Steven could not control his indignation as he looked at the misery implicit in the crude collection of hovels.

"Lars," he said sharply, " **_Look!_ ** "

" _What?_ **_Where?_** " The puffy-haired young man came out of his troubled preoccupation quickly as if expecting some danger.

"The village," Steven told him. "Look at it."

"What? Oh. It's only a serfs' village," Lars said indifferently. "I've seen hundreds like it." He seemed ready to return to his own inner turmoil.

"In Delmarvia we wouldn't even keep **_PIGS_ ** in places like that." Steven's voice rang with fervor.

 _If he could only make his friend_ **_see!_ **

 

Two ragged serfs were dispiritedly hacking chunks of firewood from one of the stumps near the road. As the party approached, they dropped their axes and bolted in terror for the forest.

"Does it make you proud, Lars?" Steven demanded. "Does it make you feel good to know that your own countrymen are so **_afraid_ ** of you that they **_run from the very sight_ ** of you?"

Lars looked baffled.

"They're **_serfs_ ** , Steven," he said as if that explained everything.

"They're **_men_ **. They're not animals. Men deserve to be treated better."

"I can't do anything about it. They aren't **_my_ ** serfs." And with that Lars's attention turned inward again as he continued to struggle with the dilemma Steven had placed upon him.

By late afternoon they had covered ten leagues and the cloudy sky was gradually darkening as evening approached. 

"I think we're going to have to spend the night in the forest, Gregarion," V said, looking around. "There's no chance of reaching the next Shwarean hostel."

 

\----

 

Mister Wolf had been half-dozing in his saddle. He looked up, blinking a bit.

"All right," he replied, "but let's get back from the road a bit. Our fire could attract attention, and too many people know we're in Flaxia already."

"There's a woodcutter's track right there." Bismuth pointed at a break in the trees just ahead. "It should lead us back into the trees."

"All right," Wolf agreed.

The sound of their horses' hooves was muffled by the sodden leaves on the forest floor as they turned in among the trees to follow the narrow track. They rode silently for the better part of a mile until a clearing opened ahead of them.

"How about here?" Bismuth asked. He indicated a brook trickling softly over mossy stones on one side of the clearing.

"It will do," Wolf agreed.

"We're going to need shelter," the smith observed.

"I bought tents in Canaar," V told him. "They're in the packs."

"That was foresighted of you," Aunt Pearl complimented her.

"I've been in Flaxia before, my Lady. I'm familiar with the weather."

"Steven and I'll go get wood for a fire then," Bismuth said, climbing down from his horse and untying his axe from his saddle.

"I'll help you," Lars offered, his face still troubled.

Bismuth nodded and led the way off into the trees. The woods were soaked, but the smith seemed to know almost instinctively where to find dry fuel. They worked quickly in the lowering twilight and soon had three large bundles of limbs and faggots.

They returned to the clearing where V and the others were erecting several dun-colored tents. Bismuth dropped his wood and cleared a space for the fire with his foot. Then he knelt and began striking sparks with his knife from a piece of flint into a wad of dry tinder he always carried.

In a short time he had a small fire going, and Aunt Pearl set out her pots beside it, humming softly to herself.

Ruby came back from tending the horses, and they all stood back watching Aunt Pearl prepare a supper from the stores Count Vergil had pressed on them before they had left his house that morning.

After they had eaten, they sat around the fire talking quietly.

"How far have we come today?" Bismuth asked.

"About twelve leagues," Ruby mumbled while chewing on a piece of roast meat.

"How much farther do we have to go to get out of the forest?"

"It's eighty leagues from Canaar to the central plain," Lars replied.

Bismuth sighed. "A week or more. I'd hoped that it'd be only a few days."

"I know what you mean, B," Amethyst agreed. "Life on the road is **_boooooring_ **."

 

\-----

 

The horses, picketed near the brook, stirred uneasily. Ruby rose to her feet.

"Whoa there, horsey," Amethyst started, also rising. “Is something wrong?”

"They shouldn't be-" Ruby started. Then she stopped, her whole form stiffening. "Back!" she snapped.

"Away from the fire. The horses say there **_are_ ** men out there. **_Many_ ** \- with weapons." She jumped back from the fire, drawing two knives into her hands.

Lars took one startled look at him and bolted for one of the tents. Steven's sudden disappointment in his friend was almost like a blow to the stomach.

“ _Wow,_ **_thanks_ ** _, Lars.”_ He thought as he saw an arrow whistle past, barely three inches away from his eyes.

 

The arrow buzzed into the light and shattered on Amethyst's mail shirt.

"Oh, it’s **_on_ ** now!" the big gem roared, drawing her whip from her gem.

Steven grasped Aunt Pearl's sleeve and tried to pull her from the light.

"Stop that!" she snapped, jerking her sleeve free as she slowly, deliberately got to her feet.

Another arrow whizzed out of the foggy woods. Aunt Pearl didn’t so much as turn to regard the imminent danger before flicking her hand in the air and muttering a word. The arrow stopped for a moment, hovering in the air, as if listening to something Aunt Pearl had to say. Then, much to the surprise of all who were watching, it turned around and went whistling back into the trees. A yelp came from amid the branches as it buried itself into the heart of the offending archer. 

Then with a hoarse shout, a gang of rough, burly men burst from the edge of the trees and splashed across the brook, brandishing swords. As Amethyst and Ruby leaped forward to meet them, Lars reemerged from the tent with his bow, his eyes aflame with unbridled bloodlust as he began loosing arrows so rapidly that his hands seemed to blur as they moved. Steven was instantly ashamed that he had doubted his friend's courage.

With a choked cry, one of the attackers stumbled back, grabbing unexpectedly at his neck where an arrow had quite suddenly lodged itself in. Another doubled over sharply, clutching at his stomach, and fell to the ground, groaning. A third, quite young and with a pale, downy beard on his cheeks, dropped heavily to the ground and sat plucking at the feathers on the shaft protruding from his chest with a bewildered expression on his boyish face.

His hands quivering, he sighed and slumped over on his side with a stream of blood trickling freely from his mouth.

 

Not expecting to be met with any resistance at all, the group of ragged-looking men scrambled to contend with Lars’s rain of arrows and laughter, to no avail however, as Amethyst and Ruby were upon them in an instant.

With a great sweep, Amethyst's heavy whip sent one brigand’s blade sailing through the air out of his grip before another swift pump of her arm made it wrap painfully around his neck, the mauve studs digging into the soft flesh beneath. The man collapsed choking and clutching desperately at the deadly taut rope.

With a flourish of her cape, Ruby sent two, three daggers out from beneath the folds of her cape, all of which made their mark spot onto the body of a pockmarked ruffian. The man stiffened, and a gush of bright red blood exploded from his mouth as Ruby swiftly followed up with a mailed, spiked fist that drove all three daggers **_right through_ ** the poor man’s body out the other end.

Bismuth ran forward with his axe, and V drew her long dagger from under her vest and ran directly at a man with a shaggy brown beard. At the last moment, she dived forward, rolled and struck the bearded man full in the chest with both feet. Without pausing she came up and swiftly ripped her dagger upwards into her enemy's belly. The dagger made a wet, tearing sound as it sliced upward, and the stricken man clutched at his stomach with a scream, trying to hold in the blue-colored loops and coils of his entrails that seemed to come boiling out through his fingers.

 

Steven dived for the packs to get his own sword, but was suddenly grabbed roughly from behind. He struggled for an instant, then felt a stunning blow on the back of his head, and his eyes filled with a blinding flash of light.

"This is the one we want," a rough voice husked as Steven sank into unconsciousness.

He was being carried - that much was certain. He could feel the strong arms under him. He didn't know how long it had been since he had been struck on the head. His ears still rang, and he was more than a little sick to his stomach. He stayed limp, but carefully opened one eye. His vision was blurred and uncertain, but he could make out Amethyst's shaggy lilac mane looming above him in the darkness, and merged with it, as once before in the snowy woods outside Van Sangria, he seemed to see the lithe form of a great puma. He closed his eyes, shuddered, and started to struggle weakly.

"It's all right, I’ve got you Steve-o," Amethyst said, her voice sunk in that familiar kind of despair.

Steven opened his eyes again, and the puma seemed to be gone. He wasn't even sure he had ever really seen it.

"Are you all right?" Amethyst asked, setting him on the ground.

"They hit me on the head," Steven mumbled, his hand going to the swelling behind his ear.

"They won't do it again," Amethyst muttered, her tone still despairing. Then the huge gem sank to the ground and buried her face in her hands. It was dark and difficult to see, but it looked as if Amethyst's shoulders were shaking with a kind of terrible suppressed grief - a soundless, wrenching series of convulsive sobs.

"Where are we?" Steven asked, looking around into the darkness.

Amethyst coughed and wiped at her face.

"Quite a ways from the tents. It took me a little while to catch up to the two who were carrying you off."

"What happened?" Steven was still a bit confused.

"They're dead. Can you stand up?"

"I don't know." Steven tried to get up, but a wave of giddiness swept over him, and his stomach churned.

"Never mind. I'll carry you," Amethyst said in a now grimly practical voice.

An owl screeched from a nearby tree, and its ghostly white shape drifted off through the trees ahead of them. As Amethyst lifted him, Steven closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his stomach under control.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Before long they came out into the clearing and its circle of firelight.

"Is he all right?" Aunt Pearl asked, looking up from bandaging a cut on Bismuth's arm.

"A bump on the head is all," Amethyst replied, setting Steven down.

"Did you run them off?"

Her voice was harsh, even brutal.

"Those that could still run," V answered, her voice a bit excited and her ferret eyes bright. "They left a few behind." He pointed at a number of still shapes lying near the edge of the firelight.

Lars came back into the clearing, looking over his shoulder and with his bow half drawn. Though he was out of breath, he wore a shaky smile on his pale face and his hands were shuddering.

"Are you all right?" he asked as soon as he saw Steven.

Steven nodded, gently fingering the lump behind his ear.

"I tried to find the two who took you," the young man declared, "but they were too quick for me. There's some kind of animal out there though. I heard it growling while I was looking for you - awful growls."

"The beast is gone now," Amethyst told him flatly.

"Is there something wrong, Amy?" V asked the big gem.

"Nothing."

"Who were these men?" Steven asked.

"Robbers, most likely," V surmised, putting away her dagger. "It's one of the benefits of a society that holds men in serfdom. They get bored with being serfs and go out into the forest looking for excitement and profit."

"You sound just like Steven," Lars objected, his tone exasperated. "Can't you people understand that serfdom's part of the natural order of things here? Our serfs couldn't take care of themselves alone, so those of us in higher station accept the **_responsibility_ ** of caring for them."

" ** _Of course_** you do," V agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "They're not so **_well fed as your pigs_** nor as well-kenneled as your dogs, but you **_DO_** **_care_** for them, don't you?"

"That'll do, V," Aunt Pol said coolly. "Let's not start bickering among ourselves." She tied a last knot on Bismuth's bandage and came over to examine Steven's head. She touched her fingers gently to the lump, and he winced.

"It doesn't seem too serious," she observed.

"It hurts all the same," he complained.

"Oh, hush now dear," she said calmly. She dipped a cloth in a pail of cold water and held it to the lump. "You're going to have to learn to protect your head, Steven. If you keep banging it like this, you're going to soften your brains."

 

Steven was about to answer that, but Ruby and Mister Wolf came back into the firelight just then.

"They're still running," Ruby announced. The steel discs on her horsehide jacket gleamed red in the flickering light, and her knives and mailed gloves were streaked with blood.

"They seemed to be awfully good at that part of it," Wolf said. "Is everyone all right?"

"A few bumps and bruises is about all," Aunt Pearl told him. "It could have been much worse.

"Let's not start worrying about what could have been."

"Shall we remove those?" Amethyst growled, pointing at the bodies littering the ground near the brook.

"Shouldn't they be buried?" Bismuth asked. His voice shook a little, and his face was very pale.

"Too much trouble," Amethyst said bluntly. "Their friends can come back later and take care of it - if they feel like it."

"Isn't that just a little uncivilized?" Bismuth objected.

Amethyst shrugged. "Welcome to shrug city, B."

 

\--

 

Mister Wolf rolled one of the bodies over and carefully examined the dead man's gray face.

"Looks like an ordinary Flaxen outlaw," he grunted. "It's hard to say for sure, though."

Lars was retrieving his arrows, carefully pulling them out of the bodies. Ruby’s spiked mail fist dematerialised as she started using the hem of her cloak to wipe the blood from her throwing knives.

"Let's drag them all over there," Amethyst said to Ruby. "I'm getting tired of looking at them."

Bismuth looked away, and Steven saw two great tears standing in his eyes.

"Does it hurt, Bismuth?" he asked sympathetically, sitting on the log beside his friend.

"I killed one of those men, Steven," the smith replied in a shaking voice. "I hit him in the face with my axe. He screamed, and his blood splashed all over me. Then he fell down and kicked on the ground with his heels until he died."

"You didn't have any choice, Bismuth," Steven told him. "They were trying to kill us."

"I've never killed anyone before," Bismuth said, the tears now running down his face. "He kicked the ground for such a long time - such a terribly long time."

"Why don't you go to bed, Steven?" Aunt Pearl suggested firmly. Her eyes were on Bismuth's tear-streaked face.

Steven understood.

"Good night, Bismuth," he said. He got up and started toward one of the tents. He glanced back once.

Aunt Pearl had seated herself on the log beside the smith and was speaking quietly to him with one of her arms wrapped comfortingly about his shoulders.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to stress that the word 'faggot' is also an archaic term that refers to a clump of sticks or twigs. In no way is this meant to offend anyone.


	6. Not Everyone's Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good brawl sets the Fellowship in high spirits once more, and they continue their journey a bit more briskly this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take a few steps back from the plot as I develop the world around them a little bit. As Steven and Lars begin to quickly realise, their view of the world isn't quite so black and white, and each comes into his own just a little bit more as they reflect on what they've seen and done.

**THE FIRE HAD BURNED** down to a tiny orange flicker outside the tent, and the forest around the clearing was silent. Steven lay with a throbbing head trying to sleep. Finally, long past midnight, he gave it up. He slid out from under his blanket and went searching for Aunt Pearl.

 

Above the silvery fog a full moon had risen, and its light made the mist luminous. The air around him seemed almost to glow as he picked his way carefully through the silent camp. 

He scratched on the outside of her tent flap and whispered, 

"Aunt Pearl?" There was no answer. 

"Aunt Pearl," he whispered a bit louder, "it's me, Steven. May I come in?" 

There was still no answer, nor even the faintest sound. Carefully he pulled back the flap and peered inside. The tent was empty.

Puzzled, even a bit alarmed, he turned and looked around the clearing. Ruby stood watch not far from the picketed horses, her cherubic face turned toward the foggy forest and her cape drawn about her. Steven hesitated a moment and then stepped quietly behind the tents. He angled down through the trees and the filmy, luminous fog toward the brook, thinking that if he bathed his aching head in cold water it might help. He was about fifty yards from the tents when he saw a faint movement among the trees ahead. 

He stopped.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A huge gray wolf padded out of the fog and stopped in the center of a small open space among the trees. Steven drew in his breath sharply and froze beside a large, twisted oak. The wolf sat down on the damp leaves as if he were waiting for something. The glowing fog illuminated details Steven would not have been able to see on an ordinary night. The wolf's ruff and shoulders were silvery, and his muzzle was shot with gray. 

He carried his age with enormous dignity, and his yellow eyes seemed calm and very wise somehow.

Steven stood absolutely still. He knew that the slightest sound would instantly reach the sharp ears of the wolf, but it was more than that. The blow behind his ear had made him light-headed, and the strange glow of moon-drenched fog made this encounter seem somehow unreal. 

He found that he was holding his breath.

A large, snowy white owl swooped over the open space among the trees on ghosting wings, settled on a low branch and perched there, looking down at the wolf with an unblinking stare. The gray wolf looked calmly back at the perched bird. Then, though there was no breath of wind, it seemed somehow that a sudden eddy in the shimmering fog made the figures of the owl and the wolf hazy and indistinct. 

When it cleared again, Mister Wolf stood in the center of the opening, and Aunt Pearl in her gray gown was seated rather sedately on the limb above him.

"It's been a long time since we've hunted together, Pearl," the old man said.

"Yes, it has, Greg." She raised her arms and pushed her fingers through the long, dark weight of her hair. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like." She seemed to shudder then with a strange kind of pleasure. "It's a very good night for it."

"A little damp," he replied, shaking one foot.

"It's very clear above the treetops, and the stars are particularly bright. It's a splendid night for flying."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Did you happen to remember what you were supposed to be doing?"

"Don't be rude, father."

"Well?"

"There's no one in the vicinity but those Flaxen, and most of them are asleep."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. There isn't a Marek for five leagues in any direction. Did you find the ones you were looking for?"

"They weren't hard to follow," Wolf answered. "They're staying in a cave about three leagues deeper into the forest. Another one of them died on their way back there, and a couple more probably won't live until morning. The rest of them seemed a little bitter about the way things turned out."

"I can imagine. Did you get close enough to hear what they were saying?"

He nodded. "There's a man in one of the villages nearby who watches the road and lets them know when somebody passes by who might be worth robbing."

"Then they're just ordinary thieves?"

"Not exactly. They were watching for us in particular. We'd all been described to them in rather complete detail."

"I think I'll go talk to this villager," she said grimly. She flexed her fingers in an unpleasantly suggestive manner.

"It's not worth the time it would take," Wolf told her, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. "All he'd be able to tell you is that some Isyaki offered him gold. Mareks don't bother to explain very much to their hirelings."

"We should attend to him, father," she insisted. "We don't want him lurking behind us, trying to buy up every brigand in Flaxia to send after us."

"After tomorrow he won't buy much of anything," Wolf replied with a short, callous laugh. "His friends plan to lure him out into the woods in the morning and cut his throat for him - among other things."

"Good. I'd like to know who the Marek is, though."

Wolf shrugged. "What difference does it make? There are dozens of them in northern Flaxia, all stirring up as much trouble as they can. They know what's coming as well as we do. We can't expect them to just sit back and let us pass."

"Shouldn't we put a stop to it?"

"We don't have the time," he said. "It takes forever to explain things to these Flaxen. If we move fast enough, maybe we can slip by before the Mareks are ready."

"And if we can't?"

"Then we'll do it the other way. I've got to get to Andy before he crosses into Sivu Isyak. If too many things get in my way, I'll have to be more direct."

"You should have done that from the beginning, father. Sometimes you're too delicate about things."

"Are you going to start that again? That's always your answer to everything, Polina. You're forever fixing things that would fix themselves if you'd just leave them alone, and changing things when they don't have to be changed."

"Don't be cross, father. Help me down."

"Why not fly down?" he suggested.

"Don't be absurd."

 

Steven slipped away among the mossy trees, trembling violently as he went.

When Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf returned to the clearing, they roused the others. "I think we'd better move on," Wolf told them. "We're a little vulnerable out here. It's safer on the highway, and I'd like to get past this particular stretch of woods."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The dismantling of their night's encampment took less than an hour, and they started back along the woodcutter's track toward the Great West Road. Though it was still some hours before dawn, the moonbathed fog filled the night with misty luminosity, and it seemed almost as if they rode through a shining cloud that had settled among the dark trees. They reached the highway and turned south again.

 

"I'd like to be a good way from here when the sun comes up," Wolf said quietly, "but we don't want to blunder into anything, so keep your eyes and ears open."

 

They set off at a canter and had covered a good three leagues by the time the fog had begun to turn a pearly gray with the approach of morning. As they rounded a broad curve, Ruby suddenly raised her arm, signaling for a halt.

"What's up?" Amethyst asked him.

"Horses ahead," Ruby replied. "Coming this way."

"Are you sure? I don't hear anything."

"Forty at least," Ruby answered firmly.

"There," Bismuth said, his head cocked to one side. "Hear that?"

 

Faintly they all heard a jingling clatter some distance off in the fog. "We could hide in the woods until they've passed," Lars suggested.

"It's better to stay on the road," Wolf replied.

"Let me handle it," V said confidently, moving into the lead. "I've done this sort of thing before." 

They proceeded at a careful walk.

The riders who emerged from the fog were encased in steel. They wore full suits of polished armor and round helmets with pointed visors that made them look strangely like huge insects. They earned long lances with colored pennons at their tips, and their horses were massive beasts, also encased in armor.

"Gelarian knights," Lars snarled, his eyes going flat.

"Keep your feelings to yourself," Wolf told the young man. "If any of them say anything to you, answer in such a way that they'll think you're a Gelarite sympathizer - like young Bernadotte back at your uncle's house."

Lars's face hardened.

"Do as he tells you, Lars," Aunt Pearl said. "This isn't the time for heroics."

 

"Hold!" the leader of the armored column commanded, lowering his lance until the steel point was leveled at them. "Let one come forward so that I may speak with him." The knight's tone was peremptory.

V moved toward the steel-cased man, her smile ingratiating. "We're glad to see you, Ser Knight," she lied glibly. "We were set upon by robbers last night, and we've been riding in fear of our lives."

"What is thy name?" the knight demanded, raising his visor, "and who are these who accompany thee?"

"I am Anna of Wal’kofte, my Lord," V answered, curtsying and pulling off her velvet cap, "a merchant of Q’zarnia bound for Tol Harith with Delmarvian woolens in hopes of catching the winter market."

The armored man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Thy party seems overlarge for so simple an undertaking, worthy merchant."

"The three there are my servants," Silk told him, pointing at Amethyst, Ruby, and Bismuth. "The old man and the boy serve my sister, a widow of independent means who accompanies me so that she might visit Tol Harith."

"What of the other?" the knight pressed. "The Tusconian?"

"A young nobleman traveling to I’chir Gelar to visit friends there. He graciously consented to guide us through this forest."

The knight's suspicion seemed to relax a bit. "Thou madest mention of robbers," he said. "Where did this ambush take place?"

"About three or four leagues back. They set upon us after we had made our night's encampment. We managed to beat them off, but my sister was terrified."

"This province of Tuscony seethes with rebellion and brigandage," the knight said sternly. "My men and I are sent to suppress such offenses. Come here, Tusconian."

Lars's nostrils flared, but he obediently came forward. "I will require thy name of thee."

"My name is Laramias, Sir Knight. How may I serve thee?"

"These robbers thy friends spoke of - were they commons or men of quality?"

"Serfs, my Lord," Lars replied, "ragged and uncouth. Doubtless fled from lawful submission to their masters to take up outlawry in the forest."

"How may we expect duty and proper submission from serfs when nobles raise detestable rebellion against the crown?" the knight asserted.

"Truly, my Lord," Lars agreed with a show of sadness that was a trifle overdone. "Much have I argued that self-same point with those who speak endlessly of Gelarian oppression and overweening arrogance. My appeals for reason and dutiful respect for His Majesty, our Lord King, however, are greeted with derision and cold despite." He sighed.

"Thy wisdom becomes thee, young Laramias," the knight approved, his expression softening. "Regrettably, I must detain thee and thy companions in order that we may verify certain details."

"Ser Knight!" V protested vigorously. "A change in the weather could destroy the value of my merchandise in Tol Harith. I implore of you, don't delay me."

"I regret the necessity, good merchant," the knight replied, "but Tuscony is filled with dissemblers and plotters. I can permit none to pass without meticulous examination."

 

There was a stir at the rear of the Gelarian column. In single file, resplendent in burnished breastplates, plumed helmets and crimson capes, a half a hundred Shwarean legionnaires rode slowly along the flank of the armored knights.

"What seems to be the problem here?" the legion commander, a lean, leather-faced man of forty or so, asked politely as he stopped not far from V’s horse.

"We do not require the assistance of the legions in this matter," the knight said coldly. "Our orders are from I’chir Gelar. We are sent to help restore order in Tuscony and we were questioning these travelers to that end."

"I have a great respect for order, Sir Knight," the Shwarean replied, somewhat amused. "but the security of the highway is my responsibility." He looked inquiringly at V.

"I am Anna of Wal’kofte, Captain," V told him, "a Q’zarnian merchant bound for Tol Harith. I have documents, if you wish to see them."

"Documents are easily forged," the knight declared.

"So they are," the Shwarean agreed, "but to save time I make it a practice to accept all documents at face value. A Q’zarnian merchant with goods in her packs has a legitimate reason to be on an Imperial Highway, Sir Knight. There's no reason to detain her, is there?"

"We seek to stamp out banditry and rebellion," the knight asserted hotly.

"Stamp away," the captain said, "but off the highway, if you don't mind. By treaty the Imperial Highway is Shwarean territory. What you do once you're fifty yards back in the trees is your affair; what happens on this road is mine. I'm certain that no true Gelarian knight would want to humiliate his king by violating a solemn agreement between the Flaxen crown and the Emperor of Shwar, would he?"

The knight looked at him helplessly.

"I think you should proceed, good merchant," the Shwarean told V. "I know that all Tol Harith awaits your arrival breathlessly." 

V grinned at him and made to curtsy floridly in her saddle. 

Then she gestured to the others and they all rode slowly past the fuming Gelarian knight. After they had passed, the legionnaires closed ranks across the highway, effectively cutting off any pursuit.

"What a guy," Amethyst said. "Normally I’m not much for thinking about those Shwar, but that one's different."

"Let's move right along," Mister Wolf said. "I'd rather not have those knights doubling back on us after the Shwar leave."

They pushed their horses into a gallop and rode on, leaving the knights behind, arguing heatedly with the legion commander in the middle of the road.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They stayed that night at a thick-walled Shwarean hostel, and for perhaps the first time in his life Steven bathed without the insistence or even the suggestion of his Aunt. Though he had not had the chance to become directly involved in the fight in the clearing the night before, he felt somehow as if he were spattered with blood or worse. 

He had not before realized how grotesquely men could be mutilated in close fighting. Watching a living man disembowled or gored had filled him with a kind of deep shame that the ultimate inner secrets of the human body could be so grossly exposed. 

He felt unclean. 

He removed his clothing in the chilly bathhouse and even, without thinking, the silver amulet Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl had given him, and then he entered the steaming tub where he scrubbed at his skin with a coarse brush and strong soap, much harder than even the most meticulous obsession with personal cleanliness would have required.

 

For the next several days they moved southward at a steady pace, stopping each night at the evenly spaced Shwarean hostels where the presence of the hard-faced legionnaires was a continual reminder that all the might of Imperial Shwar guaranteed the safety of travelers who sought refuge there.

 

On the sixth day after the fight in the forest, however, Lars's horse pulled up lame. Bismuth and Ruby, under Aunt Pearl's supervision, spent several hours brewing poultices over a small fire by the roadside and applying steaming compresses to the animal's leg while Wolf fumed at the delay. By the time the horse was fit to continue, they all realized that there was no chance to reach the next hostel before dark.

 

"Well, Old Wolf," Aunt Pearl said after they had remounted, " **_what now_ ** ? Do we ride on at night, or do we try to take shelter in the forest again?"

"I haven't decided," Wolf answered shortly.

"If I remember right, there's a village not far ahead," Lars, now mounted on an Ainur horse, stated. "It's a poor place, but I think it has an inn - of sorts."

"That sounds ominous," V said. "What exactly do you mean by ' **_of sorts_ ** '?"

"The Lord of this demesne is notoriously greedy," Lars replied. "His taxes are crushing, and his people have little left for themselves. The inn isn't good."

"We'll have to chance it," Wolf decided, and led them off at a brisk trot. As they approached the village, the heavy clouds began to clear off, and the sun broke through wanly.

 

\-------------------

 

The village was even worse than Lars's description had led them to believe. A half dozen ragged beggars stood in the mud on the outskirts, their hands held out imploringly and their voices shrill. The houses were nothing more than rude hovels oozing smoke from the pitiful fires within. Scrawny pigs rooted in the muddy streets, and the stench of the place was awful.

A funeral procession slogged through the mud toward the burial ground on the other side of the village. The corpse, carried on a board, was wrapped in a ragged brown blanket, and the richly robed and cowled priests of Yellow Diamond, the Flaxen God, chanted an age-old hymn that had much to do with war and vengeance, but little to do with comfort. The widow, a whimpering infant at her breast, followed the body, her face blank and her eyes dead.

 

The inn smelled of stale beer and half-rotten food. A fire had destroyed one end of the common room, charring and blackening the low-beamed ceiling. The gaping hole in the burned wall was curtained off with a sheet of rotting canvas. The fire pit in the center of the room smoked, and the hard-faced innkeeper was surly. For supper he offered only bowls of watery gruel - a mixture of barley and turnips.

 

"Charming," Vidalia said with barely concealed sarcasm, pushing away her untouched bowl. "Colour me surprised, Lars. Your passion for correcting wrongs seems to have overlooked this place. Might I suggest that your next crusade include a visit to the Lord of this demesne? His hanging seems long overdue."

"I hadn't realized it was so bad," Lars replied in a subdued voice. He looked around as if seeing certain things for the first time. A kind of sick horror began to show itself in his transparent face.

Steven, his stomach churning, stood up. "I think I'll go outside," he declared.

"Not too far," Aunt Pearl warned.

 

The air outside was at least somewhat cleaner, and Steven picked his way carefully toward the edge of the village, trying to avoid the worst of the mud.

"Please, my Lord," a little girl with huge eyes begged, "have you a crust of bread to spare?"

Steven looked at her helplessly. "I'm sorry." He fumbled through his clothes, looking for something to give her, but the child began to cry and turned away.

 

In the stump-dotted field beyond the stinking streets, a ragged boy about Steven's own age was playing a wooden flute as he watched a few scrubby cows. The melody he played was heartbreakingly pure, and it sang to him of a life he knew existed but would forever be, tantalizingly, out of reach. His tunes drifted unnoticed among the hovels squatting in the slanting rays of the pale sun. The boy saw him, but did not break off his playing. 

Their eyes met with a kind of grave recognition, but they did not speak.

At the edge of the forest beyond the field, a dark-robed and hooded man astride a black horse came out of the trees and sat watching the village. There was something ominous about the dark figure, and something vaguely familiar as well. It seemed somehow to Steven that he should know who the rider was, but, though his mind groped for a name, it tantalizingly eluded him. He looked at the figure at the edge of the woods for a long time, noticing without even being aware of it that though the horse and rider stood in the full light of the setting sun, there was no shadow behind them. 

Deep in his mind something tried to shriek at him, but, all bemused, he merely watched. He would not say anything to Aunt Pearl or the others about the figure at the edge of the woods because there was nothing to say; as soon as he turned his back, he would forget.

The light began to fade, and, because he had begun to shiver, he turned to go back to the inn with the aching song of the boy's flute soaring toward the sky above him.

 

 


	7. The Red Baron Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the arms of mortal danger comes their unlikely saviour.

**DESPITE THE PROMISE OF** the brief sunset, the next day dawned cold and murky with a chill drizzle that wreathed down among the trees and made the entire forest sodden and gloomy. They left the inn early and soon entered a part of the wood that seemed more darkly foreboding than even the ominous stretches through which they had previously passed.

The trees here were **_enormous_ ** , and many vast, gnarled oaks lifted their bare limbs among the dark firs and spruces. The forest floor was covered with a kind of gray moss that looked diseased and unwholesome.

 

Lars had spoken little that morning, and Steven assumed that his friend was still struggling with the problem of Bokk's scheme. The young Tusconian rode along, wrapped in his heavy green cloak, his chestnut hair damp and dispirited-looking in the steady drizzle. Steven pulled in beside his friend, and they rode silently for a while.

"What's troubling you, Lars?" he asked finally.

"I think that all my life I've been blind, Steven," Lars replied.

"Oh? In what way?" Steven said it carefully, hoping that his friend had finally decided to tell Mister Wolf everything.

"I saw only Gelaria’s oppression of Tuscony. I never saw our own oppression of our own people."

"I've been trying to tell you that," Steven pointed out. It wasn’t exactly what he had hoped he’d realise, but it was a pleasant surprise all the same.

"What made you see it finally?"

"That village where we stayed last night," Lars explained. "I've never seen so poor and mean a place - or people crushed into such hopeless misery. How can they bear it?"

"Do they have any choice?"

"My father at least looks after the people on his land," the young man asserted defensively. "No one goes hungry or without shelter - but those people are treated worse than animals. I've always been proud of my station, but now it makes me ashamed."

Tears actually stood in his eyes.

Steven was not sure how to deal with his friend's sudden awakening. On the one hand, he was glad that Lars had finally seen what had always been obvious; but on the other, he was more than a little afraid of what this newfound perception might cause his mercurial companion to leap into.

"I'll renounce my rank," Lars declared suddenly, as if he had been listening to Steven's thoughts, "and when I return from this quest, I'll go among the serfs and share their lives - their sorrows."

"What good will that do? How would your suffering in any way make theirs less?"

Lars looked up sharply, a half dozen emotions chasing each other across his open face. Finally he smiled, but there was a determination in his blue eyes. "You're right, of course," he said. "You always are. It's amazing how you can always see directly to the heart of a problem, Steven."

"Just what have you got in mind?" Steven asked a little apprehensively.

"I'll lead them in revolt. I'll sweep across Flaxia with an army of serfs at my back." His voice rang as his imagination fired with the idea.

Steven groaned. "Why is that always your answer to everything, Lars?" he demanded. "In the first place, the serfs don't have any weapons and they don't know how to fight. No matter how hard you talk, you'd never get them to follow you. In the second place, if they did, every nobleman in Flaxia would join ranks against you. They'd butcher your army; and afterward, things would be ten times worse. In the third place, you'd just be starting another civil war; and that's exactly what the Isyaki want."

Lars blinked several times as Steven's words sank in. His face gradually grew mournful again.

"I hadn't thought of that," he confessed.

"I didn't think you had. You're going to keep making these mistakes as long as you keep carrying your brain in the same scabbard with your sword, Lars."

Lars flushed at that, and then he laughed ruefully. "That's a pointed way of putting it, Steven," he said reproachfully.

Steven flushed. "I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "Maybe I should have said it another way."

"No," Lars told him. "I'm a Flax. I tend to miss things if they aren't said directly."

"It's not that you're stupid, Lars," Steven protested. "That's a mistake everyone makes. Flaxen aren't stupid - they're just impulsive."

"All this was more than just impulsiveness," Lars insisted sadly, gesturing out at the damp moss lying under the trees.

"This what?" Steven asked, looking around.

"This is the last stretch of forest before we come out on the plains of central Flaxia," Lars explained. "It's the natural boundary between Gelaria and Tuscony."

"The woods look the same as all the rest," Steven observed, looking around.

"Not really," Lars said somberly. "This was the favorite ground for ambush. The floor of this forest is carpeted with old bones. Look there." He pointed.

 

\------------

 

At first it seemed to Steven that what his friend indicated was merely a pair of twisted sticks protruding from the moss with the twigs at their ends entangled in a scrubby bush. Then, with revulsion, he realized that they were the greenish bones of a human arm, the fingers clutched at the bush in a last convulsive agony.

Outraged, he demanded, "Why didn't they bury him?"

"It would take a thousand men a thousand years to gather all the bones that lie here and commit them to earth," Lars intoned morbidly. "Whole generations of Flaxia rest here - Gelarian, Volunite, Tusconian. All lie where they fell, and the moss blankets their endless slumber."

 

Steven shuddered and pulled his eyes away from the mute appeal of that lone arm rising from the sea of moss on the floor of the forest. The curious lumps and hummocks of that moss suggested the horror which lay moldering beneath. As he raised his eyes, he realized that the uneven surface extended as far as he could see.

"How long until we reach the plain?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Two days, probably."

"Two days? And it's all like this?"

Lars nodded.

"Why?" Steven's tone was harsher, more accusing than he'd intended.

"At first for pride - and honor," Lars replied. "Later for grief and revenge. Finally it was simply because we didn't know how to stop. As you said before, sometimes we Flaxen aren't very bright."

"But always courageous," Steven answered quickly.

"Oh yes," Lars admitted. "Always full of courage. It's our national curse."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Greg," Ruby said quietly from behind them, "the horses smell something."

Mister Wolf roused himself from the doze in which he usually rode. "What?"

"The horses," Ruby repeated. "Something out there's frightening them."

Wolf's eyes narrowed and then grew strangely blank. After a moment he drew in a sharp breath with a muttered curse.

"Gem Mutants," he swore.

 

At the mention of that phrase, Amethyst’s head, also drooping, suddenly snapped to attention.

"What's a Gem Mutant?" Bismuth asked.

"They’re gem experiments gone wrong," Amethyst replied immediately. “I’ve heard that these things exist but… I’ve never really believed it to be true.”

"Gem experiments?" Bismuth asked, repulsed. "Who would even **_think_ ** about doing such a thing to a gem?"

" **_Who else_ ** ?” growled Ruby, her words dripping with venom. “They worshipped White with **_all_ ** they had… and that was their reward.”

Bismuth shuddered. “Are they going to attack us?”

"Almost certainly." Wolf's voice was tense. "Ruby, you're going to have to keep the horses under control. We don't dare get separated."

"Where did they come from?" Lars asked. "I’ve never heard of any monsters in this forest."

"They come down out of the mountains of Phenai sometimes when they get hungry," Wolf answered. "They don't leave survivors to report their presence."

“But gems don’t **_need_ ** to eat,” Steven replied, puzzled. “What do you mean by **_hungry_ **?”

A look passed between Ruby and Amethyst just then, and the question went unanswered. If Steven didn’t know them any better, he would have sworn it was one of fear.

 

"You'd better do something, father," Aunt Pearl said. "They're all around us."

Lars looked quickly around as if getting his bearings. "We're not far from Hessanite’s Knoll," he offered. "We might be able to hold them off if we get there."

"Hessanite’s Knoll?" Amethyst said. She had already drawn her heavy whip.

"It's a high hillock covered with boulders," Lars explained. "It's almost like a fort. Hessanite held it for a month against a Gelarite army."

"Sounds promising," V said. "It would get us out of the trees at least." She looked nervously around at the forest looming about them in the drizzling rain.

"Let's try for it," Wolf decided. "They haven't worked themselves up to the point of attacking yet, and the rain's confusing their sense of smell."

A haunting, gurgling sound came from back in the forest.

"Is that them?" Steven asked, his voice sounding shrill in his own ears.

"They're calling to each other," Wolf told him. "Some of them have seen us. Let's pick up the pace a bit, but don't start running until we see the knoll."

They nudged their nervous horses into a trot and moved steadily along the muddy road as it began to climb toward the top of a low ridge. "Half a league," Lars said tensely. "Half a league and we should see the knoll."

The horses were difficult to hold in, and their eyes rolled wildly at the surrounding woods. Steven felt his heart pounding, and his mouth was suddenly dry. It started to rain a bit harder. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked quickly. A manlike figure was loping along parallel to the road about a hundred paces back in the forest. It ran half crouched, its long, gangly arms dragging itself along the ground and along the branches as well. It seemed to be a loathsome gray colour.

"Over there!" Steven cried.

"I see it," Amethyst growled. "Not quite as big as I thought they’d be."

V grimaced. "Big enough."

"If they attack, be careful not to let any of the clawed ones scratch you," Wolf called out, straightening once more in his saddle after another brief insight. “They’re venomous to organic tissue.”

"That's exciting," V said.

"There's the knoll," Aunt Pearl announced quite calmly.

"Let's run!" Wolf barked.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The frightened horses, suddenly released, leaped forward and fled up the road, their hoofs churning. An enraged howl came from the woods behind them, and the gurgling sound grew louder all around them.

"We're going to make it!" Bismuth shouted in encouragement.

But suddenly a half-dozen snarling Gem Mutants were in the road in front of them, their arms spread wide and their mouths gaping hideously, for those who had them that was. They came in different shapes and sizes, but even the shortest of the bunch was dangerously large, twice the size of Steven.

Their faces were their most horrifying feature, for they had none. Just a cruel, horrific amalgamation of arms and legs upon a brutish, muscular body, appendages flailing about the place. Some of them had teeth that were sharp and pointed, others had claws on their hands, or legs, or both, and they dripped with a nasty looking green liquid.

Up close, Steven realised that he had been right all along. They weren't gray, but a mixture of so many different colours, so many different gem shards, that each colour forced themselves into expression, resulting in a faded, dull monochrome appearance.

 

The horses screamed and reared, trying to bolt. Steven clung to his saddle with one hand and fought the reins with the other.

Amethyst beat at her horse's rump with the butt of her whip and kicked savagely at the animal's flanks until the horse, finally more afraid of her than the Mutants, charged. With two great sweeps, one to either side, Amethyst killed two of the beasts as she plunged through. A third, claws outstretched, tried to leap on her back, but stiffened and collapsed facedown in the mud with one of Lars's arrows between its shoulders.

Amethyst wheeled her horse and chopped at the three remaining creatures.

"Let's go!" she bellowed.

Steven heard Lars gasp and turned quickly. With sick horror he saw that a lone mutant had crept out of the woods beside the road and was clawing at his friend, trying to hook him out of the saddle.

Weakly, Lars beat at its torso with his bow. Steven desperately drew his sword, but Ruby, coming from behind, was already there. Her spiked fist dug deep into the beast's body, and the mutant shrieked and fell writhing to the ground beneath the pounding hooves of the pack animals.

 

The horses, running now in sheer panic, scrambled toward the slope of the boulder-strewn knoll. Steven glanced back over his shoulder and saw Lars swaying dangerously in his saddle, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. Steven pulled in savagely on his reins and turned his horse.

"Save yourself, Steven!" Lars shouted, his face deadly pale.

"No!" Steven sheathed his sword, pulled in beside his friend and took his arm, steadying him in the saddle.

Together they galloped toward the knoll with Steven straining to hold the injured young man.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

The knoll was a great jumble of earth and stone thrusting up above the tallest trees around it. Their horses scrambled and clattered up the side among the wet boulders. When they reached the small flat area at the top of the tor where the pack animals huddled together, trembling in the rain, Steven slid out of his saddle in time to catch Lars, who toppled slowly to one side.

"Over here," Aunt Pearl called sharply. She was pulling her small bundle of herbs and bandages out of one of the packs. "Bismuth, I'll need a fire - at once."

Bismuth looked around helplessly at the few scraps of wood lying in the rain at the top of the hillock.

"I'll try," he said doubtfully.

Lars's breathing was shallow and very fast. His face was still a deadly white, and his legs would not hold him. Steven held him up, a sick fear in the pit of his stomach. Ruby took the wounded man's other arm, and between them they half carried him to where Aunt Pearl knelt, opening her bundle.

"I have to get the poison out immediately," she told them. "Steven, give me your knife."

Steven drew his dagger and handed it to her. Swiftly she ripped open Lars's brown tunic along his side, revealing the savage wounds the mutant’s claws had made.

"This will hurt," she said. "Hold him."

Steven and Ruby took hold of Lars's arms and legs, holding him down.

Aunt Pearl took a deep breath and then deftly sliced open each of the puffy wounds. Blood spurted and Lars screamed once. Then he fainted.

"Ruby!" Amethyst shouted from atop a boulder near the edge of the slope. "We need you!"

"Go!" Aunt Pearl told the stony-faced Ainur. "We can handle this now. Steven, you stay here." She was crushing some dried leaves and sprinkling the fragments into the bleeding wounds. "The fire, Bismuth," she ordered.

"It won't start, Mistress Pearl," Bismuth replied helplessly. "It's too wet."

She looked quickly at the pile of sodden wood the smith had gathered.

Her eyes narrowed, and she made a quick gesture. Steven's ears rang strangely and there was a sudden hissing. A cloud of steam burst from the wood, and then crackling flames curled up from the sticks. Bismuth jumped back, startled.

"The small pot, Steven," Aunt Pearl instructed, "and water. Quickly." She pulled off her blue cloak and covered Lars with it.

Vidalia, Amethyst and Ruby stood at the edge of the slope, heaving large rocks over the edge. Steven could hear the clatter and clash of the rocks striking the boulders below and the gurgling of the Gem mutants, punctuated by an occasional howl of pain.

He cradled his friend's head in his lap, terribly afraid. "Is he going to be all right?" he appealed to Aunt Pearl.

"It's too early to tell," she answered. "Don't bother me with questions just now."

"They're running!" Amethyst shouted.

"They're still hungry," Wolf replied grimly. "They'll be back."

From far off in the forest there came the sound of a brassy horn.

"What's that?" V asked, still puffing from the effort of heaving the heavy stones over the edge.

"Someone I've been expecting," Wolf answered with a strange smile. He raised his hands to his lips and whistled shrilly.

"I can manage now, Steven," Aunt Pol said, mashing a thick paste into a steaming pad of wet linen bandage. "You and Bismuth go help the others."

Reluctantly Steven lowered Lars's head to the wet turf and ran over to where Wolf stood. The slope below was littered with dead and dying mutants, crushed by the rocks Amethyst and the others had hurled down on them.

"They're going to try again," Amethyst said, hefting another rock. "Can they get at us from behind?"

V shook her head. "No. I checked. The back of the hill's a sheer face."

The mutants came out of the woods below, gurgling and snarling as they loped forward with their half crouched gait. The first of them had already crossed the road when the horn blew again, very close this time.

 

And then a huge horse bearing a man in full armor burst out of the trees and thundered down upon the attacking creatures. The armored man crouched over his lance and plunged directly into the midst of the startled mutants. The great horse screamed as he charged, and his ironshod hoofs churned up big clots of mud. The lance crashed through the chest of one of the largest mutants and splintered from the force of the blow. The splintered end took another full in the face. The knight discarded the shattered lance and drew his broadsword with a single sweep of his arm. With wide swings to the right and left he chopped his way through the pack, his warhorse trampling the living and the dead alike into the mud of the road. At the end of his charge he whirled and plunged back again, once more opening a path with his sword. The mutants turned and fled howling into the woods.

"Jasper!" Wolf shouted. "Up here!"

The armored knight raised his blood-spattered visor and looked up the hill.

"I see you!" he answered gaily, “Are you sure you need me for this Greg? They don’t look too tough.” and with that, he clanged down his visor, and plunged into the rainy woods after the mutants.

"Ruby!" Amethyst shouted, already moving.

Ruby nodded tersely, and the two of them ran to their horses. They swung into their saddles and plunged down the wet slope to the aid of the stranger.

"Your friend shows a remarkable lack of good sense," V observed to Mister Wolf, wiping the rain from her face. "Those things will turn on him any second now."

"It probably hasn't occurred to him that he's in any danger," Wolf replied. "He's a Gelarite, and they tend to think they're invincible."

 

\-------------

 

The fight in the woods seemed to last for a long time. There were shouts and ringing blows and shrieks of terror from the mutants. Then Ruby, Amethyst, and the strange knight rode out of the trees and trotted up the knoll.

At the top, the armored man clanged down from his horse. "Good to see you again, my old friend," he boomed to Mister Wolf.

"Your little friends there were very frisky." His armor gleamed wetly in the rain.

"I'm glad we found something to entertain you," Wolf said dryly.

"I can still hear them," Bismuth reported. "I think they're still running."

"That’s a damn shame," the knight observed somewhat disdainfully, regretfully sheathing his sword and removing his helmet. “This could have been an amusing afternoon.”

"We must all make sacrifices," V drawled.

The knight sighed.

"Hear, hear. You seem to be lady of fine quality, my dear princess." He shook the water out of the white plume on his helmet.

"Forgive me," Mister Wolf said. "This is Jasper, Baron of I’chir Q’ortiz. He'll be going with us. Jasper, this is Princess Vidalia of Q’zarnia and Amethyst, Earl of Crenellan and cousin to King Thur-Man of Wy-Ate. Over there is Ruby, daughter of Evan, chief of the Clan-Chiefs of Aine. The practical one is Goodman Bismuth of Delmarvia, and this boy is Steven, my grandson - several times removed."

Jasper bowed deeply to each of them. "Ho and hail, ladies and runts," he declaimed in his booming voice. "It looks like our adventure is off to a magnificent start. But tell me, who is this lady, whose beauty so captivates my vision?"

"A pretty speech, Sir Jasper," Aunt Pearl replied with a rich laugh, her hand going almost unconsciously to her damp hair. "I'm going to like this one, father."

"The legendary Lady Polina?" Jasper asked. “By the stars! Truly have I been blessed on this day." His courtly bow was somewhat marred by the creaking of his armor.

"Our injured friend is Laramias, son of the Baron of Wilhelm," Wolf continued. "You may have heard of him."

Jasper’s face darkened slightly. "Oh, I see. There have been rumours, Gregarion, that this Laramias of Wilhelm has been stirring trouble against the King for several months now. He may even be prt of the Tusonian rebellion.”

"That's of no matter now," Wolf stressed. "The business which has brought us together is much more serious than all that. You'll have to put it aside."

"If you insist, my ancient friend," Jasper declared immediately, though his eyes still lingered on the unconscious Lars.

 

\-------------

 

"Grandfather!" Steven called, pointing at a mounted figure that had suddenly appeared on the side of the stony hilltop. The figure was robed in black and sat a black horse. He pushed back his hood to reveal a polished steel mask cast in the form of a face that was at once beautiful and strangely repelling. A voice deep in Steven's mind told him that there was something important about the strange rider - something he should remember - but whatever it was eluded him

.

"Abandon this quest, Gregarion." The voice was hollow behind the mask.

"You know me better than that, Bloodstone," Mister Wolf said calmly, quite obviously recognizing the rider. "Was this childishness with the mutants your idea?"

"And you should know me better than that," the figure retorted derisively. "When I come against you, you can expect things to be a bit more serious. For now, there are enough underlings about to delay you. That's all we really need. Once Andarion has carried The Corrupted Ward to my Master, you can try your power against the might and will of the Black, if you'd like."

"Are you running errands for Andy, then?" Wolf asked.

"I run no man's errands," the figure replied with heavy contempt. The rider seemed solid, as real as any of them standing on the hilltop, but Steven could see the filmy drizzle striking the rocks directly beneath horse and man. Whatever the figure was, the rain was falling right through it.

"Why are you here then, Bloodstone?" Wolf demanded.

"Let's call it curiosity, Gregarion. I wanted to see for myself how you'd managed to translate the Prophecy into everyday terms." The figure looked around at the others on the hilltop. "Clever," it said with a certain grudging admiration. "Where did you find them all?"

"I didn't have to find them, Bloodstone," Wolf answered. "They've been there all along. If any part of the Prophecy is valid, then it all has to be valid, doesn't it? There's no contrivance involved at all, Each one has come down to me through more generations than you can imagine."

The figure seemed to hiss with a sharp intake of its breath. "It isn't complete yet, old man."

"It will be, Bloodstone," Wolf replied confidently. "I've already seen to that."

"Which is the one who will live twice?" the figure asked suddenly. Wolf smiled coldly, but did not answer.

"Hail, my Queen," the figure said mockingly then to Aunt Pearl.

"Marek courtesy always leaves me quite cold," she returned with a frosty look. "I'm not your queen, Bloodstone."

"You will be, Polina. My Master said that you are to become hers forever when she comes into her kingdom. You shall be the Pearl Eternal."

"That puts you at a bit of a disadvantage, doesn't it, Bloodstone? If I'm to become your queen, you can't really cross me, can you?"

"I can work around you, Polina, and once you've become the bride of the Black, her will becomes your will. I'm sure you won't hold any old grudges at that point."

"I think we've had about enough of this, Bloodstone," Mister Wolf said. "Your conversation's beginning to bore me. You can have your shadow back now." He waved his hand negligently as if brushing away a troublesome fly. "Go," he commanded.

Once again Steven felt that strange surge and that hollow roaring in his mind. The horseman vanished.

"You didn't destroy him, did you?" V gasped in a shocked voice.

"No," Mister Wolf told him. "It was all just an illusion. It's a childish trick the Mareks find impressive. A shadow can be projected over quite some distance if you want to take the trouble. All I did was send his shadow back to him." He grinned suddenly with a sly twist to his lips. "Of course I selected a somewhat indirect route. It may take a few days to make the trip. It won't actually hurt him, but it's going to make him a bit uncomfortable - and extremely conspicuous."

"Well, that was something" Jasper observed. "Who was that rude shade?"

"It was Bloodstone," Aunt Pearl said, returning her attention to the injured Lars, "one of the chief priests of the Marikeen. Father and I have met him before."

"I think we'd better get off this hilltop," Wolf stated. "How soon will Lars be able to ride?"

"A week at least," Aunt Pearl replied, "if then."

"That's out of the question. We can't stay here."

"He can't ride," she told him firmly.

"Couldn't we make a litter of some sort?" Bismuth suggested. "I'm sure I can make something we can sling between two horses so we can move him without hurting him."

"Well, Pearl?" Wolf asked.

"I suppose it will be all right," she said a little dubiously.

"Let's do it then. We're much too exposed up here, and we've got to move on."

Bismuth nodded and went to the packs for rope to use in building the litter.


	8. The Invincible, The Unshattered.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger of the gem mutants past, the Fellowship presses onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter as I shamelessly find an excuse to glorify Jasper, though not without some self-awareness on both mine and the characters in the story as to how much I'm aggrandising her.
> 
> To clarify, I don't hate her, but her actions in the canon universe is deplorable. I feel like she could be capable of so much more if she had just seen the POV of the Crystal Gems, and this chapter basically aims to show that.

SIR JASPER, BARON OF I’CHIR QUARTIZIA, was a man of slightly more than medium height. His hair was white and shaggy, and fell about him like a great silvery mane. His eyes were deep amber, and he had a resonant voice in which he expressed firmly held opinions. The most peculiar feature about him, though, was the inconsistency of his skin, which for the most part was a fair, almost sandy colour with streaks of tanned patches across his face.  

 

Steven did not like him. The knight's towering self confidence, an egotism so pure that there was a kind of innocence about it, seemed to confirm the worst of Lars’s dark pronouncements about Gelarites; and Jasper’s extravagant courtesy to Aunt Pearl struck Steven as beyond the bounds of proper civility. To make matters even worse, Aunt Pearl seemed quite willing to accept the knight's flatteries at face value.

 

As they rode through the continuing drizzle along the Great Western Road, Steven noted with some satisfaction that his companions appeared to share his opinion. Amethyst’s expression spoke louder than words; Vidalia’s eyebrows lifted sardonically at each of the knight's pronouncements; and Bismuth had the most prominent reaction of all, his scowl deepening each time he spoke to Aunt Pearl.

 

Steven, however, had little time to sort out his feelings about the Gelarian. He rode close beside the litter upon which Lars tossed painfully as the Gem mutant poison seared through his veins. He offered his friend what comfort he could and exchanged frequent worried looks with Aunt Pearl, who rode nearby. During the worst of Lars’s paroxysms, Steven helplessly held the young man's hand, unable to think of anything else to do to ease his pain.

"You must learn to soldier through it, Lars." Jasper cheerfully advised the injured Tusconian after a particularly bad bout that left Lars gasping and moaning. "I’ve lived through worse scars than that in battles half as fun. Just pucker up, buttercup, you’ll live."

"That's exactly the kind of comfort I'd expect from a Gelarite," Lars retorted from between clenched teeth. "I think I'd rather you didn't ride so close. Your opinions smell almost as bad as your armor."

Jasper’s face flushed slightly. "It looks as though the venom in his veins has finally reached his head. Perhaps it might be best if we just give him his final rites right here and now." he observed coldly.

Lars half raised himself in the litter as if to respond hotly, but the sudden movement seemed to aggravate his injury, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jasper simply shook his head sadly. 

"His wounds are grave," Jasper stated. "Though I do not doubt the efficacy of your treatment, Lady Polina, it may not suffice to save his life."

"He needs rest," she told him. "Try not to agitate him so much."

"So be it," Jasper replied. "I shall ride ahead then, so as not to rouse him to anger at the countenance of my visage." He moved his warhorse ahead at a canter until he was some distance in front of the rest of them.

"Do they all talk like that?" Steven asked with a certain rancor. "In that… frustrating tone?” 

"Gelarians tend to be very formal," Aunt Pearl explained. "You'll get used to it."

"I think it sounds stupid," Steven muttered darkly, glaring after the knight.

"An example of good manners won't hurt you all that much, Steven."

 

 

They rode on through the dripping forest as evening settled among the trees.

"Aunt Pearl?" Steven asked finally.

"Yes, dear?"

"What was that Marek talking about when he said that about you and Black Diamond?"

"It's something Black said once when she was raving. The Marikeen took it seriously, that's all." She pulled her blue cloak tighter about her.

"Doesn't it worry you?"

"Not particularly."

"What was that Prophecy the Marek was talking about? I didn't understand any of that." 

The word "Prophecy" for some reason stirred something very deep in him.

"The Marin Codex," she answered. "It's a very old version, and the writing's almost illegible. It mentions companions - the purple puma, the weasel, and the man who will live twice. It's the only version that says anything about them. Nobody knows for certain that it really means anything."

"Grandfather thinks it does, doesn't he?"

"Your grandfather has a number of curious notions. Old things impress him - probably because he's so old himself."

Steven was going to ask her about this Prophecy that seemed to exist in more than one version, but Lars moaned then and they both immediately turned to him. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

They arrived shortly thereafter at a Shwarean hostel with thick, whitewashed walls and a red tile roof. Aunt Pearl saw to it that Lars was placed in a warm room, and she spent the night sitting by his bed caring for him. 

Steven padded worriedly down the dark hallway in his stocking feet a half-dozen times before morning to check on his friend, but there seemed to be no change.

 

By daybreak the rain had let up. They started out in the grayish dawn with Jasper still riding some distance ahead until they reached at last the edge of the dark forest and saw before them the vast, open expanse of the Flaxian central plain, dun-colored and sere in the last few weeks of winter. The knight stopped there and waited for them to join him, his face somber.

"What's the trouble?" V asked him.

Jasper pointed gravely at a column of black smoke rising from a few miles out on the plain.

"What is it?" V inquired, her features twisted into a look of concern. 

"Smoke in Flaxia can only mean one thing," the knight replied, pulling on his plumed helmet. "Stay low. Let me ride ahead to scout this out." He set his spurs to the flanks of his charger and leaped forward at a thunderous gallop.

"Wait!" Amethyst roared after him, but Jasper rode on obliviously. "That idiot," the big gem fumed. "I'd better go with him in case there's trouble."

"It isn't necessary," Lars advised weakly from his litter. "Not even an army would dare to interfere with him."

"I thought you didn't like the guy," Amethyst said, a little surprised.

"I don't," Lars admitted, "but he's the most feared man in Flaxia. Even in Tuscony we've heard of Sir Jasper the Invincible. He's the ultimate fighter. No sane man would stand in his way."

They drew back into the shelter of the forest and waited for the knight to come back. When he returned, his face was angry. "It's exactly what I thought it would be," he announced. "There's a full blown civil war ahead. Between two dumb barons-- best of friends, no less."

"Can’t we go around it?" V asked, hopefully. 

"No, Princess Vidalia," Jasper replied. "Their conflict is so widespread we'd be made a target if we come even within three leagues of them. It seems as though I must buy our way through this."

"Do you think they'll take money to let us pass?" Bismuth asked dubiously.

"Money?” Jasper asked, laughing just then. “Oh no, my Goodman Bismuth. In Flaxia we have another way of buying things," Jasper responded. "Might you be so kind, Bismuth, as to cut six to eight poles of wood about twenty feet in length thereabouts?"

"Okay..." said Bismuth dubiously as took up his axe.

"What have you got in mind?" Amethyst rumbled.

"I will challenge them," Jasper announced calmly, "all of them, if I have to. Wanna second me up, runt? I could use the extra muscle."

"What if you lose?" V suggested.

"Lose?" Jasper seemed shocked. "Me? Lose?"

V rolled her eyes and sighed.

 

By the time Bismuth had returned with the poles, Jasper had finished tightening various straps beneath his armor. Taking one of the poles, he vaulted into his saddle and started at a rolling trot toward the column of smoke, with Amethyst at his side.

"Is this really necessary, father?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"We have to get through, Pearl," Mister Wolf replied. "Don't worry. Jasper knows what he's doing."

 

After a couple of miles they reached the top of a hill and looked down at the battle below. Two grim, black castles faced each other across a broad valley, and several villages dotted the plain on either side of the road. The nearest village was in flames, with a great pillar of greasy smoke rising from it to the lead-gray sky overhead, and serfs armed with scythes and pitchforks were attacking each other with a sort of mindless ferocity on the road itself. 

Some distance off, pikemen were gathering for a charge, and the air was thick with arrows. On two opposing hills parties of armored knights with bright-colored pennons on their lances watched the battle. Great siege engines lofted boulders into the air to crash down on the struggling men, killing, so far as Steven could tell, friend and foe indiscriminately. The valley was littered with the dead and the dying.

"Stupid," Wolf muttered darkly.

"No one I know of has ever accused any Flaxen of brilliance," V observed.

 

Jasper set his horn to his lips and blew a shattering blast. The battle paused as the soldiers and serfs all stopped to stare up at him. He sounded his horn again, and then again, each brassy note a challenge it itself. As the two opposing bodies of knights galloped through the knee-high, winter-yellowed grass to investigate, Jasper turned to Amethyst.

"Lord Amethyst, if you'd be so kind," he requested politely, "I'd like you to deliver my challenge as soon as they approach us."

Amethyst shrugged. “Sure thing, pal." she noted. 

She eyed the advancing knights and then lifted her voice in a great roar. 

"Sir Jasper of I’chir Quartizia, the Invincible, the Unshattered, desires entertainment," she decried. "If you've got the guts to defend your honour, then send us each a champion amongst you to take up his challenge. But,if you're all just too chicken to fight in such a contest, then stop this stupid, petty brawling and stand aside so that your betters may pass."

"Nicely done, smallfry," Jasper whispered with admiration.

"I got your back, sis." Amethyst winked back. 

 

The two parties of knights warily rode closer.

"Well, look at you, sorry, half-sized, overcooked runts." Jasper chided them. "What's this stupid war about this time?” 

"An insult, Sir Jasper," the knight, Sir Delacroix, replied. He was a large man, and his polished steel helmet had a golden circlet riveted above the visor. "An insult so vile that it may not go unpunished."

"It was I who was insulted," a noble on the other side contended hotly.

"What was the nature of this insult, Sir Olimar?" Jasper inquired.

Both men looked away uneasily, and neither spoke.

"You've both gone to war over an insult which you two dunderheads can't even remember?" Jasper said incredulously. "And here I thought that us Lords of Flaxia were sensible people. I suppose I was wrong.” 

"Don't you noble Flaxen shmucks have anything better to do?" Amethyst asked in a voice heavy with contempt.

"Of Sir Jasper the Bastard we have all heard," a swarthy knight in black enamelled armor sneered, "but who is this pink bearded ape who so maligns his betters?"

"You gonna say anything about that?" Amethyst asked Jasper.

"It's more or less true," Jasper admitted with a pained look, "since there was some temporary irregularity about my birth which still raises questions about my legitimacy. This knight is Sir Hadfield, my third cousin-twice removed. Since it's considered… somewhat taboo in Flaxia to spill the blood of kinsmen, he uses my birth as a cheap tactic to make himself look stronger."

"Stupid custom," Amy grunted. "In Wy-Ate kinsmen kill each other with more enthusiasm than they kill strangers."

"They do?” Jasper sighed. "Shame this isn't Wy-Ate, then."

"Would you be offended if I dealt with this one?" Amethyst asked politely.

"Not at all."

Amethyst moved closer to the swarthy knight. "I am Amethyst, Earl of Crenellan," he announced in a loud voice, "kinsman to King Thur-Man of Wy-Ate, and I see that certain nobles in Flaxia have even fewer manners than they have brains."

"The Lords of Flaxia are not impressed by the self bestowed titles of the pig-sty kingdoms of the north," Sir Hadfield retorted coldly.

"I find your words offensive, friend," Amethyst said ominously.

"And I find your pig face and your pathetic excuse of a beard amusing," Sir Hadfield replied.

 

Amethyst did not even bother to summon her whip. She swung her huge arm in a wide circle and crashed her fist with stunning force against the side of the swarthy knight's helmet. Sir Hadfield’s eyes glazed as he was swept from his saddle, and he made a vast clatter when he struck the ground.

 

"Would anyone else like to comment about my beard?" Amethyst demanded.

"Gently, Amy," Jasper advised. He glanced down with a certain satisfaction at the unconscious form of his senseless kinsman twitching in the tall grass.

"Will we docilely accept this attack on our brave companion?" one of the knights in Baron Delacroix’s party demanded in a harshly accented voice. "Kill them all!" 

He reached for his sword.

"I warn you," Jasper advised him on a voice like thin ice. “The moment your sword leaves that sheath, your head leaves your neck.”

The knight's hand froze on his sword hilt.

"This is embarassing, my Lords," Jasper continued accusingly. "Surely you all know that by courtesy and common usage my challenge, until it is answered, guarantees my safety and that of my companions. So you'd best be either choosing your champions or withdraw, because if that doesn't start happening soon, my dear friend from Wy-Ate and I are going to become very impatient. And you won't like us when we're impatient.”

 

The two parties of knights pulled back some distance to confer, and several men-at-arms came to the hilltop to pick up Sir Hadfield.

"That one who was going to draw his sword was an Isyaki," Steven said quietly.

"I noticed that," Ruby murmured, her dark eyes glittering.

"They're coming back," Bismuth warned.

"I will joust with thee, Sir Jasper," Baron Delacroix announced as he approached. "I doubt not that thy reputation is well-deserved, but I also have taken the prize in no small number of tourneys. I would be honored to try a lance with thee."

"And I too will try my skill against throe, Sir Knight," Baron Olimar declared. "My arm is also feared in some parts of Flaxia."

"Very well," Jasper replied. "Let us find some level ground and proceed. It's getting late, and my companions and I have business to the south."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

They all rode down the hill to the field below where the two groups of knights drew up on either side of a course which had been quickly trampled out in the high, yellow grass. 

Delacroix galloped to the far end, turned and sat waiting, his blunted lance resting in his stirrup.

"You're a respectable man, Delacroix, " Jasper called, taking up one of the poles Bismuth had cut. "And for that I’ll try not to injure you too much. Are you prepared to meet my charge?"

"I am," the baron replied, lowering his visor.

Jasper clapped down his visor, lowered his lance, and set his spurs to his warhorse.

"It's probably inappropriate under the circumstances," V murmured, "but I can't help wishing that our overbearing friend could suffer some humiliating defeat."

Mister Wolf gave him a withering look. "As if!"

"Is he that good?" V asked wistfully.

"Watch," Wolf told him.

 

The two knights met in the center of the course with a resounding crash, and their lances both shattered at the stunning impact, littering the trampled grass with splinters. They thundered past each other, turned and rode back, each to his original starting place. Delacroix, Steven noticed, swayed somewhat in the saddle as he rode.

The knights charged again, and their fresh lances also shattered. 

"I should have cut more poles," Bismuth said as he gave a low whistle at the breath-taking spectacle.

 

But Baron Delacroix swayed even more as he rode back this time, and on the third charge his faltering lance glanced off Jasper’s shield. Jasper’s lance, however, struck true, and the baron was hurled clear off his saddle by the force of their meeting.

Jasper reined in his charger and looked down at him. "Do you yield?" he asked politely.

Delacroix staggered to his feet. "I do not yield," he gasped, drawing his sword.

"Good," Jasper replied in a voice that would make any man's blood run cold. “I was looking forward to beating you into the ground.”

He slid out of his saddle, drew his sword and swung directly at Delacroix’s head. The blow glanced off the baron's hastily raised shield, and Jasper swung again without pause. Delacroix managed one or two feeble swings before Jasper’s broadsword caught him full on the side of the helmet. He spun once and collapsed facedown on the earth.

"My Lord?" Jasper inquired solicitously. He reached down, rolled over his fallen opponent and opened the dented visor of the baron's helmet. "Are you alright?” he asked. "Do you still wish to continue?"

 

Delacroix did not reply. Blood ran freely from his nose, and his eyes were rolled back in his head. His face was blue, and the right side of his body quivered spasmodically.

"Since this brave knight is unable to speak for himself," Jasper announced, "I declare him vanquished." 

He looked around, his broadsword still in his hand. "Is there anyone who wishes to contest my words?"

There was a vast silence.

"Will some few of you then remove him from the battlefield?" Jasper suggested. "He isn't that badly injured. A few months in bed and he'll regenerate anew." 

He turned to Baron Olimar, whose face had grown visibly pale. 

"Ah!” he said cheerfully, "shall we proceed? My companions and I have really got to get going soon.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Sir Olimar was thrown to the ground on the first charge and broke his leg as he fell.

"I'm going to take a wild guess here," Jasper observed, approaching on foot with drawn sword. "And assume that you yield.”

"I cannot stand," Olimar said from between clenched teeth. "I have no choice but to yield."

"Does that mean that we're good to go?"

"Do as you wish," the man on the ground replied painfully.

"Not just yet," a harsh voice interrupted. The armored Isyaki pushed his horse through the crowd of other mounted knights until he was directly in front of Jasper.

"I thought he might decide to interfere," Aunt Pearl said quietly. She dismounted and stepped out onto the hoof churned course. "Move out of the way, Jasper," she told the knight.

“But, my Lady Polina?” Jasper protested.

Wolf barked sharply. "Move, Jasper!"

Jasper looked startled and stepped aside.

"Well, Marek?" Aunt Pearl challenged, pushing back her hood.

The mounted man's eyes widened as he saw the white lock in her hair, and then he raised his hand almost despairingly, muttering rapidly under his breath.

Once again Steven felt that strange surge, and the hollow roaring filled his mind.

For an instant Aunt Pearl’s figure seemed surrounded by a kind of greenish light. She waved her hand indifferently, and the light disappeared. "You must be out of practice," she told him. "Would you like to try again?"

The Marek raised both hands this time, but got no further. Maneuvering his horse carefully behind the armored man, Bismuth had closed on him. With both hands he raised his axe and smashed it down directly on top of the Marek’s helmet.

"Bismuth!" Aunt Pearl shouted. "Get away!"

But the smith, his face set grimly, swung again, and the Marek slid senseless from his saddle with a crash.

"You fool!" Aunt Pearl raged. "What do you think you're doing?"

"He was attacking you, Mistress Pearl," Bismuth explained, his eyes still hot.

"Get down off that horse."

He slid down.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" she demanded. "He could have killed you."

"I will protect you, Mistress Pearl," Bismuth replied stubbornly. "I'm not a warrior or a magician, but I won't let anybody try to hurt you."

Her eyes went wide in surprise at Bismuth's heartfelt words for an instant, then narrowed, then softened. Steven, who had known her from childhood, recognized her rapid changes of emotion. Without warning she suddenly embraced the startled Bismuth. 

"Oh Bismuth, you great, clumsy, dear fool," she said. "Never do that again - never! You almost made my heart stop."

Steven looked away with a strange lump in his throat and saw the brief, sly smile that flickered across Mister Wolf's face.

 

\---------------------------

 

A peculiar change had come over the knights lining the sides of the course. Several of them were looking around with the amazed expressions of men who had just been roused from some terrible dream. Others seemed suddenly lost in thought. Sir Olimar struggled to rise.

"Whoa, hey, easy there," Jasper told him, pressing him gently back down. "You'll only hurt yourself more."

"What have we done?" the baron groaned, his face anguished.

Mister Wolf dismounted and knelt beside the injured man.

"It wasn't your fault," he informed the baron. "Your war was the Isyaki’s doing. He twisted your minds and set you on each other."

"Sorcery?" Olimar gasped, his face growing pale.

Wolf nodded. "He's not really an Isyaki, but a Marek priest."

"And the spell is now broken?"

Wolf nodded again, glancing at the unconscious Isyaki. 

"Chain the bastard up," the baron growled at the assembled knights. He looked back at Wolf. 

"We have ways of dealing with sorcerers," he said grimly. "We will use the occasion to celebrate the end of our unnatural war. This Isyaki sorcerer hath cast his last enchantment."

"Good," Wolf replied with a bleak smile.

"Sir Jasper," Baron Olimar said, wincing as he shifted his broken leg, "in what way may we repay thee and thy companions for bringing us to our senses?"

At that announcement, Jasper drew himself up to his full height proudly, before replying;

"That peace has been restored is enough of a reward for me," Jasper replied somewhat pompously, "for, as all the world knows, I am the most peace-loving man in the kingdom." 

His words received varying degrees of lamentation and eye-rolling from the assorted members of the Fellowship.

He glanced once at Lars lying nearby on the ground in his litter, and a thought seemed to occur to him. 

"Actually, there is one favour I could ask of you. We have in our company a brave Tusconian youth of noble family who has suffered a great injury in protecting us. If you'd be so kind as to take him, we would be forever grateful to you.."

"His presence shall honor me, Sir Jasper," Olimar assented immediately. "The women of my household will care for him most tenderly." 

He spoke briefly to one of his retainers, and the man mounted and rode quickly toward one of the nearby castles.

"You're not going to leave me behind," Lars protested weakly. "I'll be able to ride in a day or so." He began to cough rackingly.

"I don't think so," Jasper disagreed with a cool expression. "Look at you, Lars. You're a stone's throw away from death."

"Only Steven gets to call me that," Lars hissed. "And I'd rather die than stay with a Gelarite."

"Young Laramias," Jasper replied bluntly, even harshly, "I know you don't much like us Gelarians. But that wound, however, will soon begin to abscess then it will putrefy, then you'll develop a raging fever, if not go completely insane. I've seen the effects of mutant venom before. The longer you stay with us, the more of a burden you'll be."

 

Steven gasped at the brutal directness of the knight's words. He glared at Jasper with something very close to hatred.

Lars’s face meanwhile had gone white. 

"Thank you for pointing that out to me, Sir Jasper," he said stiffly. "I should have considered it myself. If you'll help me to my horse, I'll leave immediately."

"You'll stay right where you are," Aunt Pearl told him flatly.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Baron Olimar’s retainer returned with a group of household servants and a blonde girl of about seventeen wearing a rose-colored gown of stiff brocade and a velvet cloak of teal.

"My younger sister, Lady Sadie," Olimar introduced her. "She's a spirited girl, and though she is young she is already well-versed in the care of the sick."

"I won't trouble her for long, my Lord," Lars declared. "I'll be returning to Tuscony within a week."

Lady Sadie laid a professional hand to his forehead. 

"No, Laramias," she disagreed. "Thy visit, I think, will be protracted."

"I'll leave within the week," Lars repeated stubbornly.

She shrugged. 

"If it pleases thee. I expect that my brother will be able to spare some few servants to follow after thee to provide thee that decent burial which, if I misjudge not, thou wilt require before thou hast gone ten leagues."

Lars blinked.

Aunt Pearl took Lady Sadie to one side and spoke with her at some length, giving her a small packet of herbs and certain instructions. 

Lars motioned to Steven, and Steven went to him immediately and knelt beside the litter.

"So it ends," the young man murmured. "I wish I could go on with you."

"You'll be well in no time at all," Steven assured him, knowing that it wasn't true. "Maybe you can catch up with us later."

Lars shook his head. "No," he disagreed, "I'm afraid not." He began to cough again, the spasms seeming to tear at his lungs. "We don't have much time, my friend," he gasped weakly, "so listen carefully."

Steven, near tears, took his friend's hand.

"You remember what we were talking about that morning after we left my uncle's house?"

Steven nodded.

"You said that I was the one who'd have to decide if we were to break our pledge to Tygoras and the others to keep silent."

"I remember," Steven told him.

"All right," Lars said. "I've decided. I release you from your pledge. Do what you have to do."

"It would be better if you told my grandfather about it yourself, Lars," Steven protested.

"I can't, Steven," Lars groaned. "The words would stick in my throat. I'm sorry, but it's the way I am. I know that Bokk’s only using us, but I gave the others my word. I'm a Flaxen, Steven. I'll keep my word even though I know it's wrong, so it's up to you. You're going to have to keep Bokk from destroying my country. I want you to go straight to the king himself."

"To the king? He'd never believe me."

"Make him believe you. Tell him everything."

Stevem shook his head firmly. "I won't tell him your name," he declared, "or Tygoras’s. You know what he'd do to you if I did."

"We don't matter," Lars insisted, coughing again.

"I'll tell him about Bokk," Garion said stubbornly, "but not about you. Where do I tell him to find the Isyaki?"

"He'll know," Lars replied, his voice very weak now. "Bokk’s the ambassador to the court at I'chir Gelar. He's the personal representative of Tor Unalaq, King of the Isyaki."

 

Steven was stunned at the implications of that.

"He's got all the gold from the bottomless mines of Sivu Isyak at his command," Lars continued. "The plot he gave my friends and me could be just one of a dozen or more all aimed at destroying Flaxia. You've got to stop him, Steven. Promise me." The pale young man's eyes were feverish, and his grip on Steven’s hand tightened.

"I'll stop him, Lars," Steven vowed. "I don't know how yet, but one way or another, I'll stop him."

Lars sank weakly back on the litter, his strength seeming to run out as if the necessity for extracting that promise had been the only thing sustaining him.

"Good-bye, Lars," Steven said softly, his eyes filling with tears.

"Good-bye, my friend," Lars barely more than whispered, and then his eyes closed, and the hand gripping Steven’s went limp. 

 

Steven stared at him with a dreadful fear until he saw the faint flutter of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. Lars was still alive - if only barely. Steven tenderly put down his friend's hand and pulled the rough gray blanket up around his shoulders. Then he stood up and walked quickly away with tears running down his cheeks.

The rest of the farewells were brief, and they remounted and rode at a trot toward the Great Western Road. 

 

There were a few cheers from the serfs and pikemen as they passed, but in the distance there was another sound. The women from the villages had come out to search for their men among the bodies littering the field, and their wails and shrieks mocked the cheers.

With deliberate purpose, Steven pushed his horse forward until he drew in beside Jasper. 

"I have something to say to you," he said hotly. "You aren't going to like it, but I don't really care."

"Oh?" the knight replied mildly.

"I think the way you talked to Lars back there was cruel and disgusting," Steven told him. "You might think you're the greatest knight in the world, but I think you're a loud-mouthed braggart with no more compassion than a block of stone, and if you don't like it, what do you plan to do about it?"

Jasper stared straight down at Steven, stunned into what seemed like absolute silence, before laughing a rumbling laugh that made his armor quiver.

 

"Ah," Jasper chuckled. "That! Oh, dear. Steven, you don't understand. It was necessary in order to save his life. That boy is very brave and so gives no thought to himself. If I hadn't talked the way I did, he would insisted on following us and he would have died."

"Died?" Steven scoffed. "Aunt Pearl could have cured him."

"It was the Lady Polina herself told me that his life was in danger, Steven." Jasper replied. "That honour of his stopped him from seeking the proper attention, so I made it such that his honour would stop him from doing what he thought would burden us," The knight smiled wryly. "He definitely won't like me more for what I've said, as you've just proven, but hey, at least he'll be alive, and that's what counts, isn't it, Steven?"

 

Steven stared at the arrogant-seeming Gelarian, his anger suddenly robbed of its target. With painful clarity he realized that he had just made a fool of himself. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized grudgingly. "I didn't realize what you were doing."

Jasper shrugged. "It's not important. I'm frequently misunderstood. But as long as I know that what I'm doing is right, I don't really care about what anyone else thinks of me. But you know, Steven, I'm glad we had this opportunity to talk. You're going to be my companion, perhaps one day even comrade, and it's not wise for fellow soldiers like ourselves to be enemies too."

 

They rode on in silence as Steven struggled to readjust his thinking. There was, it seemed, much more to Jasper than he had suspected.

 

They reached the highway then and turned south again under a threatening sky.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, Lars and Sadie. Almost forgot about that ship.


	9. Spectres from a Shadowy Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fictional backstory into Ruby's life (since we didn't get any in the show so again I took some creative liberties) and more espionage with Vidalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about being unable to upload yesterday I was really tired lol

**THE FLAXIAN PLAIN WAS A VAST** , rolling grassland, with settlements few and far between.

 

The wind sweeping across the dried grass was raw and chill, and dirty-looking clouds scudded overhead as they rode. The necessity for leaving the injured Lars behind had put them all into a melancholy mood, and for the most part they traveled in silence for the next several days. Steven rode at the rear with Ruby and the packhorses, doing his best to stay away from Jasper altogether.

 

Ruby was a silent gem who seemed undisturbed by hours of riding without conversation; but after two days of this, Steven made a deliberate effort to draw the cherubic-faced Ainur out.

"Why is it that you hate Isyaki so much, Ruby?" he asked for want of something better to say.

Ruby stiffened at the question. "All Sangrians hate Isyaki, Steven." Ruby answered quietly.

"Well, yeah," Steven admitted, "but it seems to be something personal with you. Why is that?"

Ruby shifted in her saddle, her leather clothing creaking. "They killed my family," she replied.

Steven felt a sudden shock as the Ainur’s words struck a responsive note.

"How did it happen?" he asked before he realized that Ruby might prefer not to talk about it.

 

"I was seven years out of the kindergarten," Ruby told him in an unemotional voice. "The Diamonds had long departed this world. Gems like me, overcooked, popped out of the rock into an empty kindergarten. With no rules, no orders, just silence, exit holes and myself as far as the eye could see.”

Steven tried imagining what that felt like, being alone from the moment one was born.

“And to top if off, I had the spectacular luck of popping out in a snowstorm,” Ruby chuckled. “I had no purpose but to get out of the weather, so I did. I tried climbing back into my exit hole, but it was too uncomfortable. I tried others, but the big ones let the chilly blizzard air in, and the small ones were too small for me, and that’s saying something for an overcooked gem like me.”

 

So I wondered the wilderness for those years, **_alone_ ** . With no friends or family, and **_no one_ ** willing to take me in until I met this… kindly old clan-chief,” said Ruby with a fond little smile forming on her face. “He and his two daughters treated me like I was one of them. They took me in, raised me, and I grew up with them-- well, they grew. I just--”

She gesticulated to herself with both her hands. Steven shook his head, puzzled.

“ **_Raised_ ** you?” he questioned.

“Yeah.”

“But your form. You’re a fully grown gem. How awkward would that have been?”

Ruby paused, realising what Steven meant. She regarded her form once before subtly shape-shifting it.

It wasn’t bright or showy as Amethyst’s was when she did it, rather, it was light and quick, and hardly gave off any light at all. What sat before Steven then made him gasp in surprise.

She had turned into a child, or at least, a **_very, very_ ** diminutive woman. Gone was her sleek leather jacket, replaced by a soft dark crimson jerkin. Her hair, once a single flowing lock, was now a full head of hair, inverted like a box. And she was short. Shorter than Amethyst was, even, at her natural state.

“ **_That’s_ ** your natural form?” Steven asked, incredulous.

Ruby nodded, smiling. It made her look even more child-like than before.

“That explains a lot.”

“Yeah,” Ruby sighed sadly. “So one day, we were going to visit our mother. My adopted mother - she was from a different clan. We had to pass near the eastern escarpment, and an Isyaki raiding-party caught us. One of my sisters’ horse stumbled, and she was thrown. The Isyaki were on us before my other sister and I could get her back on her horse…” Her voice trailed off as she stared far into the distance.

 

They rode like that for a bit, her minute frame bouncing in the saddle as she rode in pensive silence. Then, without warning, she shifted back into her taller, imposing, brooding self.

“They took a **_long_ ** time to kill my sisters. Sometimes, when I close my eyes; when I dream, I can still hear their screams. The way my father pleaded with them to spare my sisters’ lives, and how they just **_laughed_ ** and **_spat_ ** in his face before they--” The red gem’s face was as bleak as rock, and her flat, quiet voice made her story seem that much more dreadful.

"After they had their way with them and slit their throats in front of me,” she continued with a dead-eyed stare, “They tied a rope around my feet and dragged me behind one of their horses," she continued. "When the rope finally broke, they thought I was dead, and they all rode off. They were laughing about it as I recall. Evan found me a couple of days later."

 

As clearly as if he had been there, Steven had a momentary picture of a child, dreadfully injured and alone, wandering in the emptiness of eastern Aine with only grief and a terrible hatred keeping her alive.

 

"I killed my first Isyaki when I was ten," Ruby went on in the same flat voice. "He was trying to escape from us, and I rode him down and put a javelin between his shoulders. He screamed like the pig he was when my javelin went through him. That made me feel better. Evan thought that if he made me watch the Isyaki die, it might cure me of the hatred. He was wrong about that, though," she chuckled bitterly. "Ever since then I adopted this form. The Red Rider. That every Isyaki may know their fate as soon as they know my name."

The tall Ainur’s face was expressionless, and her wind-whipped scalp lock tossed and flowed out behind her. There was a kind of emptiness about her as if she were devoid of any feeling but that one driving compulsion.

For an instant Steven dimly understood what Mister Wolf had been driving at when he had warned about the danger of becoming obsessed with a desire for revenge, but he pushed the notion out of his mind. If Ruby could live with it, so could he. He felt a sudden fierce admiration for this lonely gem in black leather.

Mister Wolf was deep in conversation with Jasper, and the two of them loitered until Ruby and Steven caught up with them. For a time they rode along together.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"That’s just the way things are," the knight in his gleaming armor was saying in a melancholy voice. "We are a prideful people, and it is our pride that dooms our poor Flaxia to internecine war."

"That can be cured," Mister Wolf said.

"How?" Jasper asked. "It is in our blood. I consider myself to be a pacifist, but even I am subject to our national disease. Not only that, but our divisions are too great, too buried in our history and our souls to be purged away. The peace will not last, my friend.” he continued, shaking his shaggy mane. “Even now Tusconian arrows sing in the forests, seeking Gelarian targets, and Gelaria in reprisal burns Tusconian houses and butchers hostages. War is inevitable, I fear."

"No," Wolf disagreed, "it's not."

"How can it be stopped?" Jasper demanded. "Who can put a stop to this madness?"

"I will, if I have to," Wolf told him quietly, pushing back his gray hood.

Jasper smiled wanly. “Greg,” he sighed. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of, but that is impossible, even for you."

"Nothing is actually impossible, Jasper," Wolf answered in a matter-of fact voice. "Most of the time I prefer not to interfere with other people's amusements, but I can't afford to have Flaxia going up in flames just now. If I have to, I'll step in and put a stop to any more foolishness."

"Do you **_really_ ** possess such power?" Jasper asked somewhat wistfully as if he could not quite bring himself to believe it.

"Yes," Wolf replied prosaically, scratching at his short white beard, "as a matter of fact, I do."

 

Jasper’s face grew troubled, even a bit awed at the old man's quiet statement, and Steven found his grandfather's declaration profoundly disturbing. If Wolf could actually stop a war single-handedly, he'd have no difficulty at all thwarting Steven’s own plans for revenge. It was something else to worry about.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Then V rode back toward them. "The Great Fair's just ahead," the ferret-like lady announced. "Do we want to stop, or should we go around it?”

"We might as well stop," Wolf decided. "It's almost evening, and we need some supplies."

"The horses could use some rest, too," Ruby said. "They're starting to complain."

"You should have told me," Wolf said, glancing back at the pack train.

"They're not really in bad shape **_yet_ ** ," Ruby informed him, "but they're starting to feel sorry for themselves. They're exaggerating of course, but a little rest wouldn't hurt them."

"Exaggerating?" V sounded shocked. "You don't mean to say that horses can actually lie, do you?"

Ruby shrugged. "Of course. They lie all the time. They're very good at it."

For a moment, V stared, unbelieving, and then she suddenly laughed. "Somehow that restores my faith in the order of the universe," she declared.

Wolf looked pained. "Vidalia," he said pointedly, "you're a very evil woman. Did you know that?"

"One does one's best," V replied mockingly.

 

The Flaxen Fair lay at the intersection of the Great Western Road and the mountain track leading down out of Phenai. It was a vast collection of blue, red and yellow tents and broad-striped pavilions stretching for a league or more in every direction. It appeared like a brightly hued city in the midst of the dun-coloured plain, and its brilliant pennons snapped bravely in the endless wind under a lowering sky.

 

"I hope I'll have time to do some business," V said as they rode down a long hill toward the Fair. The little woman's sharp nose was twitching. "I'm starting to get out of practice."

A half dozen mud-smeared beggars crouched miserably beside the road, their hands outstretched. Jasper paused and scattered some coins among them.

"You shouldn't encourage them," Amethyst growled.

"Why not?" Jasper replied. “A knight always exemplifies charity.”

"Why don't they build houses here?" Steven asked V as they approached the central part of the Fair.

"Nobody stays here that long," V explained. "The Fair's always here, but the population's very fluid. Besides, buildings are taxed; tents aren't."

Many of the merchants who came out of their tents to watch the party pass seemed to know V, and some of them greeted her warily, suspicion plainly written on their faces.

"I see that your reputation's preceded you, Viddy," Amethyst observed dryly.

V shrugged. "The price of power."

"Isn't there some danger that somebody'll recognize you as that other merchant?" Bismuth asked. "The one the Isyaki are looking for?"

"You mean Helena? It's not very likely. Helena doesn't come to Flaxia very often, and she and Anna don't look a bit alike."

"But they're the same man," Bismuth objected. "They're both you."

"Ah," Vidalia said, raising one finger, "you and I both know that, but they don't. To you I always look like myself, but to others I look quite different."

Bismuth looked profoundly skeptical.

"Anna, old friend," a chipper Q’zarnian merchant called from a nearby tent.

"Delsin," V replied delightedly. "I haven't seen you in years."

"You look prosperous," the merchant observed.

"Getting by," V responded modestly. "What are you dealing in now?"

"I've got a few Noxian carpets," Delsin told him. "Some of the local nobles are interested, but they don't like the price."

His hands, however, were already speaking of other matters.

 _“Your uncle sent out word that we were to help you if necessary. Do you need anything?_ ”

"What are you carrying in your packs?" he asked aloud.

"Delmarvian woolens," V answered, "and a few other odds and ends." Have you seen any Isyaki here at the Fair?

_“One, but he left for I’chir Gelar a week ago. There are some Indratu on the far side of the Fair, though.”_

“ _They're a long way from home,_ ” V gestured. “ _Are they really in business?_ ”

“ _It's hard to say,_ ” Delsin answered.

“ _Can you put us up for a day or so?_ ”

 _“I'm sure we can work something out”_ Delsin replied with a sly twinkle in his eyes as he looked her up and down.

V’s fingers betrayed her shock at the suggestion.

“ _Business is business, after all_ ” Delsin gestured.

"You **_must_ ** come inside," he said aloud. "Take a cup of wine, have some supper. We have years of catching up to do."

"We'd be delighted," V returned somewhat sourly.

"Could it be that you've met your match, Princess Vidalia?" Aunt Pearl inquired softly with a faint smile as the little man helped her down from her horse in front of Delsin’s brightly striped pavilion.

"Delsin? Hardly. He's been trying to get even with me for years ever since a ploy of mine in Kig Indrak cost him a fortune. I'll let him think he's got me for a while though. It will make him feel good, and I'll enjoy it that much more when I pull the rug out from under him."

She laughed. "You're incorrigible."

She winked at her.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The interior of Delsin's main pavilion was ruddy in the light of several glowing braziers that put out a welcome warmth. The floor was covered with a deep blue carpet, and large red cushions were scattered here and there to sit upon. Once they were inside, V quickly made the introductions.

"I'm honoured, Ancient One," Delsin murmured, bowing deeply to Mister Wolf and then to Aunt Pearl. "What can I do to help?"

"Right now we need information more than anything," Wolf replied, pulling off his heavy cloak. "We ran into a Marek stirring up trouble a few days north of here. Can you nose about and find out what's happening between here and I’chir Gelar? I'd like to avoid any more neighborhood squabbles if possible."

"I'll make inquiries," Delsin promised.

"I'll be moving around too," V said. "Between us, Delsin and I should be able to sift out most of the loose information in the Fair." Wolf looked at him inquiringly.

"Anna of Wal’kofte never passes up a chance to do business," the little lady explained just a bit too quickly. "It would look very strange if she stayed in Delsin’s tent."

"Hmmmph, for some reason I doubt that." Wolf said.

"Greg!" V gasped innocently. “Not in front of the **_children_ **!” Her sharp nose, however, was twitching even more violently.

Wolf surrendered. "All right. But don't get exotic. I don't want a crowd of outraged customers outside the tent in the morning howling for your head."

\------------------------------------

 

Delsin's porters took the packs from the spare horses, and one of them showed Ruby the way to the horse pens on the outskirts of the Fair. V began rummaging through the packs. A myriad of small, expensive items began to pile up on Delsin's carpet as V's quick hands dipped into the corners and folds of the wool cloth.

"I wondered why you needed so much money in Canaar," Wolf commented dryly.

"Just part of the disguise," V replied. "Anna always has a few curios with her for trade along the way."

"That's a very convenient explanation," Amethyst observed, "but I wouldn't finish it all in one go if I was you."

"If I can't double our old friend's money in the next hour, I'll retire permanently," V promised. "Oh, I almost forgot. I'll need Steven to act as a porter for me. Anna always has at least one porter."

"Try not to corrupt him too much," Aunt Pearl said.

 

V bowed extravagantly and set her black velvet cap at a jaunty angle; with Steven at her heels, carrying a stout sack of his treasures, she swaggered out into the Great Flaxenite Fair like a man going into battle.

 

A fat Shwarean three tents down the way proved troublesome and succeeded in getting a jeweled dagger away from V for only three times what it was worth, but two Flaxen merchants in a row bought identical silver goblets at prices which, though widely different, more than made up for that setback.

"I love to deal with the Flax," V almost squealed as they moved on down the muddy streets between the pavilions.

The sly little Q’zarnian moved through the Fair, wreaking havoc as she went.

When she could not sell, she bought; when she could not buy, she traded; and when she could not trade, she dredged for gossip and information. Some of the merchants, wiser than their fellows, saw her coming and promptly hid from her. Steven, swept along by the little woman's enthusiasm, began to understand his friend's fascination with this game where profit was secondary to the satisfaction of besting an opponent.

 

Vidalia’s predations were broadly ecumenical. She was willing to deal with anyone. She met them all on their own ground. Shwareans, Flaxen, Wy-Ates, fellow Q’zarnians, Delmars - all fell before her. By midafternoon she had disposed of all of what she had bought in Canaar.

Her full purse jingled, and the sack on Steven’s shoulder was still as heavy, but now it contained entirely new merchandise.

V, however, was frowning. She walked along, bouncing a small, exquisitely blown glass bottle on the palm of her hand. She had traded two ivory-bound books of Volunite verse to a Hrodenite for the little bottle of perfume.

"What's the trouble?" Steven asked her as they walked back toward Delsin’s pavilions.

"I'm not sure who won," V told him shortly.

"What?"

"I don't have any idea what this is worth."

"Why did you take it, then?"

"I didn't want him to know that I didn't know its value."

"Sell it to somebody else."

"How can I sell it if I don't know what to ask for it? If I ask too much, nobody'll talk to me; and if I ask too little, I'll be laughed out of the Fair."

 

Steven started to chuckle.

"I don't see that it's all that funny, Steven," V pouted sensitively. She remained moody and irritable as they entered the pavilion.

"Here's the profit I promised you," she told Mister Wolf somewhat ungraciously as she poured coins into the old man's hand.

"What's bothering you?" Wolf asked, eyeing the little woman's grumpy face.

"Nothing," V replied shortly.

Then she glanced over at Aunt Pearl, and a broad smile suddenly appeared on her little face. She crossed to her and bowed.

"My dear Lady Polina, please accept this trifling memento of my regard for you." With a flourish she presented the perfume bottle to her.

 

Aunt Pearl's look was a peculiar mixture of pleasure and suspicion.

She took the small bottle and carefully worked out the tightly fitting stopper. Then with a delicate gesture she touched the stopper to the inside of her wrist and raised the wrist to her face to catch the fragrance.

"Why, Vidalia," she exclaimed with delight, "this is a princely gift."

V’s smile turned a bit sickly, and she peered sharply at her, trying to determine if she was serious or not. Then she sighed and went outside, muttering darkly to herself about the duplicity of Hrodenites.

Delsin returned not long afterward, dropped his striped cloak in one corner and held out his hands to one of the glowing braziers.

"As near as I was able to find out, things are quiet between here and I'chir Gelar," he reported to Mister Wolf, "but five Isyaki just rode into the Fair with two dozen Drakans behind them."

Ruby looked up quickly, her eyes blazing.

Wolf frowned. "Did they come from the north or the south?"

"They claim to have come from I'chir Gelar, but there's red clay on the Drakans' boots. I don't think there's any clay between here and I'chir Gelar, is there?"

"Nonsense," Jasper declared firmly. "The only clay in the region is to the north."

Wolf nodded. "Get V back inside," he told Amethyst . Amethyst went to the tent flap.

"Couldn't it just be a coincidence?" Bismuth wondered.

"I don't think we want to take that chance," Wolf answered. "We'll wait until the Fair settles down for the night and then slip away."

V came back inside, and she and Delsin spoke together briefly.

"It won't take the Isyaki long to find out we've been here," Amy rumbled, tugging thoughtfully at her lilac mane. "Then they'll get to following us every step of the way from here to I'chir Gelar. Wouldn't it simplify things if Ruby, Jasper, and I go pick a fight with them? Five dead Isyaki aren't going to follow anybody."

Ruby nodded with a certain dreadful eagerness.

"I don't know if that would set too well with the Shwarean legionnaires who police the Fair," V drawled. "Policemen seem to worry about unexplained bodies. It upsets their sense of neatness."

Amy shrugged. "It was just a thought."

"I think I've got an idea," Delsin said, pulling on his cloak again. "They set up their tents near the pavilions of the Indratu. I'll go do some business with them."

He started toward the tent flap, then paused.

"I don't know if it means anything," he told them, "but I found out that the leader is an Isyaki named Rohk."

Steven felt a sudden chill at the mention of the name.

Amethyst whistled and looked suddenly very grim. "We're going to have to attend to that one sooner or later, Greg," she declared.

"You know him?" Delsin did not seem very surprised.

"We've met a time or two," V replied in an offhand way.

"He's starting to make a nuisance of himself," Aunt Pearl agreed.

"I'll get started," Delsin said.

 

\---------------------------

 

Steven lifted the tent flap to allow Delsin to leave; but as he glanced outside, he let out a startled gasp and jerked the flap shut again.

"What's the matter?" V asked him.

"I think I just saw Myr out there in the street."

"Let me see," Bismuth said. His fingers parted the flap slightly, and he and Steven both peered out.

A slovenly figure loitered in the muddy street outside.

 

Myr had not changed much since they'd left Alger’s farm. His tunic and hose were still patched and stained; his face was still unshaven, and his cast eye still gleamed with a kind of unwholesome whiteness.

"It's Myr, all right," Bismuth confirmed. "He's close enough for me to smell him."

Delsin looked at the smith inquiringly.

"Myr bathes irregularly," Bismuth explained. "He's a fragrant sort of a fellow."

"May I?" Delsin asked politely. He glanced out over Bismuth's broad shoulders. "Ah," he said, "that one. He works for the Indratu. I thought that was a little strange, but he didn't seem important, so I didn't bother to investigate."

"Bismuth," Wolf said quickly, "step outside for a moment. Make sure he sees you, but don't let him know that you know he's there. After he sees you, come back inside. Hurry. We don't want to let him get away."

Bismuth looked baffled, but he lifted the tent flap and stepped out.

"What are you up to, father?" Aunt Pearl demanded, suddenly very concerned. "Don't just stand there smirking, old man. That's very irritating."

"It's perfect," Wolf chortled, rubbing his hands together.

Bismuth came back in, his face worried. "He saw me," he reported. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course," Wolf replied. "Rohk’s obviously here because of us, and he's going to be looking all over the Fair for us."

"Why make it easy for him?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"We won't," Wolf replied. "Rohk’s used Myr before - in Mavros, remember? He brought Myr down here because Myr would recognize you or me or Bismuth or Steven - probably Amethyst too, and maybe V. Is he still out there?"

Steven peered out through the narrow opening. After a moment he saw the unkempt Myr half hidden between two tents across the street. "He's still there," he answered.

"We'll want to keep him there," Wolf said. "We'll have to be sure that he doesn't get bored and go back to report to Rohk that he's found us."

V looked at Delsin, and they both began to laugh.

"What's funny?" Amethyst demanded suspiciously.

"You almost have to be a Q’zarnian to appreciate it," V replied. She looked at Wolf admiringly. "Sometimes you amaze me, old friend."

Mister Wolf winked at her.

"I still don't get it," Jasper confessed as he shrugged along with Amethyst. “What's the plan here?”

"May I?" V asked Wolf. He turned back to the knight. "It goes like this, Jasper. Rohk’s counting on Myr to find us for him, but as long as we keep Myr interested enough, he'll delay going back to tell Rohk where we are. We've captured Rohk’s eyes, and that puts him at quite a disadvantage."

"But won't this curious runt just follow us as soon as we leave the tent?" Jasper asked. "When we ride from the Fair, the Isyaki will be immediately behind us."

"The back wall of the tent is made of canvas, Jasper," V pointed out gently. "With a sharp knife you can make as many doors in it as you like."

Delsin winced slightly, then sighed. "I'll go see the Isyaki," he said. "I think I can delay them even more."

"Bismuth and I'll go out with you," V told his chipper friend. "You go one way, and we'll go another. Myr will follow us, and we can lead him back here."

Delsin nodded, and the three of them went out.

"Isn't all this unnecessarily complicated?" Amethyst asked sourly. "Myr doesn't know Ruby. Why not just have Ruby slip out the back, circle around behind him, and stick a knife between his ribs? Then we could stuff him in a sack and bury him in a ditch somewhere after we leave the Fair."

Wolf shook his head. "Rohk-Nal-Do would miss him," he replied. "I want him to tell the Isyaki that we're in this tent. With any luck, they'll sit outside for a day or so before they realize that we're gone."

 

For the next several hours various members of the party went out into the street in front of the tent on short and wholly imaginary errands to hold the attention of the lurking Myr.

When Steven stepped out into the gathering darkness, he put on a show of unconcern, although his skin prickled as he felt Myr’s eyes on him. He went into Delsin’s supply tent and waited for several minutes.

The noise from a tavern pavilion several rows of tents over seemed very loud in the growing stillness of the Fair as Steven waited nervously in the dark supply tent. Finally he drew a deep breath and went out again, one arm tucked up as if he were carrying something. "I found it, Bismuth," he crowed as he re-entered the main pavilion.

"There's no need to improvise, dear," Aunt Pearl remarked.

"I just wanted to sound natural," he replied innocently.

 

\---------------------

 

Delsin returned soon after that, and they all waited in the warm tent as it grew darker outside and the streets emptied. Once it was fully dark, Delsin’s porters pulled the packs out through a slit in the back of the tent. Vidalia, Delsin, and Ruby went with them to the horse pens on the outskirts of the Fair while the rest remained long enough to keep Myr from losing interest.

In a final attempt at misdirection, Mister Wolf and Amethyst went outside to discuss the probable conditions of the road to Diophe in Phenaidia.

"It might not work," Wolf admitted as he and the big lush-chested gem came back inside. "Rohk’s sure to know that we're following Andy south, but if Myr tells him that we're going to Diophe, it might make him divide his forces to cover both roads." He looked around the inside of the tent. "All right," he said. "Let's go."

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

One by one they squeezed out through the slit in the back of the tent and crept into the next street. Then, walking at a normal pace like serious people on honest business, they proceeded toward the horse pens.

They passed the tavern pavilion where several men were singing. The streets were mostly empty by now, and the night breeze brushed the city of tents, fluttering the pennons and banners.

Then they reached the edge of the Fair where V, Delsin and Ruby waited with their mounts.

 

"Good luck," Delsin said as they prepared to mount. "I'll delay the Isyaki for as long as I can."

V shook his friend's hand. "I'd still like to know where you got those lead coins."

Delsin winked at him.

"What's this?" Wolf asked.

"Delsin’s got some Shwarean crowns stamped out of lead and gilded over," V told him. "He hid some of them in the Isyakis’ tent, and tomorrow morning he's going to go to the legionnaires with a few of them and accuse the Isyaki of passing them. When the legionnaires search the Isyakis’ tent, they're sure to find the others."

"Ooooh, nice one V. Money does seem awfully important to those Shwar," Amethyst approved. "If the legionnaires get excited enough about those coins, they might start hanging people."

Delsin smirked. "Wouldn't that be a terrible shame?"

 

They mounted then and rode away from the horse pens toward the highway.

It was a cloudy night, and once they were out in the open the breeze was noticeably brisk. Behind them the Fair gleamed and twinkled under the night sky like some vast city.

 

Steven drew his cloak about him. It was a lonely feeling to be on a dark road on a windy night when everyone else in the world had a fire and a bed and walls around him.

Then they reached the Great Western Road stretching pale and empty across the dark, rolling Flaxian plain and turned south again.

 

 


	10. Of Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice townie (roadie?) episode to precede the finale of the Flaxen chapter.

**THE WIND PICKED UP AGAIN** shortly before dawn and was blowing briskly by the time the sky over the low foothills to the east began to lighten.

Steven was numb with exhaustion by then, and his mind had drifted into an almost dreamlike trance. The faces of his companions all seemed strange to him as the pale light began to grow stronger.

At times he even forgot why they rode. He seemed caught in a company of grim-faced strangers pounding along a road to nowhere through a bleak, featureless landscape with their wind-whipped cloaks flying dark behind them like the clouds scudding low and dirty overhead.

A peculiar idea began to take hold of him. The strangers were somehow his captors, and they were taking him away from his real friends. The idea seemed to grow stronger the farther they rode, and he began to be afraid.  
  
Suddenly, without knowing why, he wheeled his horse and broke away, plunging off the side of the road and across the open field beside it.  
  
" _ **Steven!**_ " a woman's voice called sharply from behind, but he set his heels to his horse's flanks and sped even faster across the rough field.  
  
One of them was chasing him, a frightening lady in black leather with a shaved head and a dark lock at his crown flowing behind her in the wind. In a panic Steven kicked at his horse, trying to make the beast run even faster, but the fearsome rider behind him closed the gap quickly and seized the reins from his hands.  
  
" _ **What are you doing?**_ " she demanded harshly.  
  
Steven stared at him, unable to answer.  
  
Then the woman in the blue cloak was there, and the others not far behind her. She dismounted quickly and stood looking at him with a stern face. She was tall for a woman, and her face was cold and imperious. Her hair was very dark, and there was a single white lock at her brow.  
  
Steven trembled. The woman made him terribly afraid.  
  
"Get down off that horse," she commanded.  
  
"Gently, Pearl," a silvery-haired old man with an evil face said.  
  
A huge hairy-chested giant rode closer, threatening, and Steven, almost sobbing with fright, slid down from his horse.  
  
"Come here," the woman ordered.  
  
Falteringly, Steven approached her.  
  
"Give me your hand," she said.  
  
Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and she took his wrist firmly. She opened his fingers to reveal the ugly mark on his palm that he seemed to always have hated and then put his hand against the white lock in her hair.  
  
"Aunt Pearl," he gasped, the nightmare suddenly dropping away. She put her arms about him tightly and held him for some time. Strangely, he was not even embarrassed by that display of affection in front of the others.  
  
"This is serious, father," she told Mister Wolf.  
  
"What happened, Shtu-roll?" Wolf asked, his voice calm.  
  
"I don't know," Steven replied. "I was as if I didn't know any of you, and you were my enemies, and all I wanted to do was run away to try to get back to my real friends."  
  
"Are you still wearing the amulet I gave you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Have you had it off at any time since I gave it to you?"  
  
"Just once," Steven admitted. "When I took a bath in the Shwarean hostel."  
  
Wolf sighed. "You can't take it off," he said, "not ever - not for any reason. Take it out from under your tunic."  
  
Steven drew out the silver pendant with the strange design on it. The old man took a medallion out from under his own tunic. It was very bright and there was upon it the figure of a standing wolf so lifelike that it looked almost ready to lope away.  
  
Aunt Pearl, her one arm still about Steven’s shoulders, drew a similar gemstone off the circlet on her head. Upon the disc of her medallion was the figure of an owl.

 

"Hold it in your right hand, dear," she instructed, firmly closing Steven’s fingers over the pendant. Then, holding her amulet in her own right hand, she placed her left hand over his closed fist. Wolf, also holding his talisman, put his hand on theirs.  
  
Steven’s palm began to tingle as if the pendant were suddenly alive. Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl looked at each other for a long moment, and the tingling in Steven’s hand suddenly became very strong.

His mind seemed to open, and strange things flickered before his eyes.

He saw a round room very high up somewhere. A fire burned, but there was no wood in it. At a table there was seated a tall, grey woman, who looked somewhat like Aunt Pearl but obviously was someone else. In the room also was a young girl in an alarmingly pink dress, whom Steven was sure was taller than she appeared but seemed awfully small with the grey lady beside her.

 

As soon as Steven recognised their presence, they turned and seemed to stare directly back at him. In the eyes of the grey lady, Steven saw compassion and understanding. Her eyes were kindly, even affectionate. In the eyes of the young, pink lady, however, Steven was unprepared for what he saw.

 

Love. An overwhelming amount of it that seemed to cascade from her eyes like a waterfall of tears. It was as if she had known him for a lifetime and more, like he was a child and she his mother, and in that gaze was the paradise of a reunion long overdue.

 

Steven was suddenly overwhelmed with a consuming love for the both of them, and they too glowered with affection for him.  
  
"That should be enough," Wolf judged, releasing Steven’s hand. It was only then he realised that he had been crying.

"Who were they Grandfather?" Steven asked.

"My Master--" Wolf started to reply before he suddenly froze up. “Wait, did you say **_they?_ ** ”

"What happened?" Bismuth asked, his face concerned.

"It's probably better not to talk about it," Aunt Pearl said before Steven had the chance to reply. "Do you think you could build a fire? It's time for breakfast."

"There are some trees over there where we can get out of the wind," Bismuth suggested.  
  
They all remounted and rode toward the trees.

 

\---------------------------------------  
  
After they had eaten, they sat by the small fire for a while. They were tired, and none of them felt quite up to facing the blustery morning again.

Steven felt particularly exhausted, and he wished that he were young enough to sit close beside Aunt Pearl and perhaps to put his head in her lap and sleep as he had done when he was very young.

The strange thing that had happened made him feel very much alone and more than a little frightened.

 

"Bismuth," he said, more to drive the mood away than out of any real curiosity. "What sort of bird is that?" He pointed.

"A raven, I think," Bismuth answered, looking at the bird circling above them.

"I thought so too," Steven said, "but they don't usually circle, do they?"

Bismuth frowned. "Maybe it's watching something on the ground."

"How long has it been up there?" Wolf asked, squinting up at the large bird.

"I think I first saw it when we were crossing the field." Steven told him.

Mister Wolf glanced over at Aunt Pearl. "What do you think, Pearl?"  
  
She looked up from one of Steven’s stockings she had been mending.

"I'll see." Her face took on a strange, probing expression.  
  
Steven felt a peculiar tingling again. On an impulse he tried to push his own mind out toward the bird.  
  
"Steven," Aunt Pearl said without looking at him, "stop that."

  
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly and pulled his mind back where it belonged.

  
Mister Wolf looked at him with a strange expression, then winked at him.  
  
"It's Bloodstone," Aunt Pearl announced calmly. She carefully pushed her needle into the stocking and set it aside. Then she stood up and shook off her blue cloak.  
  
"What have you got in mind?" Wolf asked.  
  
"I think I'll go have a little chat with him," she replied, flexing her fingers like talons.  
  
"You'd never catch him," Wolf told her. "Your feathers are too soft for this kind of wind. There's an easier way." The old man swept the windy sky with a searching gaze. "Over there." He pointed at a barely visible speck above the hills to the west. "You'd better do it, Pearl. I don't get along with birds."  
  
"Of course, Greg," she agreed.

She looked intently at the speck, and Steven felt the tingle as she sent her mind out again. The speck began to circle, rising higher and higher until it disappeared.  
  
The raven did not see the plummeting eagle until the last instant, just before the larger bird's talons struck. There was a sudden puff of black feathers, and the raven, screeching with fright, flapped wildly away with the eagle in pursuit.  
  
"Nicely done, Pearl," Wolf approved.  
  
"That should give him something to think about." She smiled. "Don't stare, Bismuth."  
  
Bismuth was gaping at her, his mouth open. "How did you do that?"  
  
"Do you really want to know?" she asked.  
  
Bismuth shuddered and looked away quickly.  
  
"I think that just about settles it," Wolf said. "Disguises are probably useless now. I'm not sure what Bloodstone’s up to, but he's going to be watching us every step of the way. We might as well arm ourselves and ride straight on to I'chir Gelar."  
  
"Aren't we going to follow the trail anymore?" Amethyst asked.  
  
"The trail goes south," Wolf replied. "I can pick it up again once we cross over into Shwar. But first I want to stop by and have a word with King Lavirintos. There are some things he needs to know."  
  
"Lavirintos?" Bismuth looked puzzled. "Wasn't that the name of the first Flaxen king? It seems to me somebody told me that once."  
  
"All Flaxen kings are named Lavirintos," V told him. "And the queens are all named Kimeia. It's part of the fiction the royal family here maintains to keep the kingdom from flying apart. They have to marry as closely within the bloodline as possible to maintain the illusion of the unification of the houses of Gelaria and Tuscony. It makes them all a bit sickly, but there's no help for it - considering the peculiar nature of Flaxen politics."  
  
"All right, Vidalia," Aunt Pearl said reprovingly.  
  
Jasper looked thoughtful. "Is it possible that this Bloodstone could be one of those errrr, how'd you say, Marikeen? Would he be a high ranking member in that society of scoundrels?” he asked.  
  
"He'd like to be," Wolf answered. "Andy and Aquamarine are Black’s disciples, and Bloodstone wants to be one as well. He's always been Aqua’s agent, but he may believe that this is his chance to move up in the Marek hierarchy. Aquamarine’s very old, and she spends all her time in the Temple of the Black at Fy Sivu. Maybe Bloodstone thinks it's time that someone else became High Priest."  
  
"Is Black’s body at Fy Sivu?" Silk asked quickly.  
  
Mister Wolf shrugged. "Nobody knows for sure, but I doubt it. After Andy carried him away from the battlefield at I'chir Gelar, I don't think he'd have just handed him over to Aquamarine. He could be in Noxus or somewhere in the southern reaches of Sivu Isyak. It's hard to say."  
  
"But at the moment, Bloodstone’s the one we have to worry about," Silk concluded.  
  
"Not if we keep moving," Wolf told him.  
  
"Well, what're we all sitting around here for?" Amethyst said, standing up. “Let's move.”

\---------------------  
  
By midmorning the heavy clouds had begun to break up, and patches of blue sky showed here and there. Enormous pillars of sunlight stalked ponderously across the rolling fields that waited, damp and expectant, for the first touches of spring.

With Jasper in the lead they had ridden hard and had covered a good six leagues. Finally they slowed to a walk to allow their steaming horses to rest.  
  
"How much farther is it to I'chir Gelar, Grandfather?" Steven asked, pulling his horse in beside Mister Wolf.  
  
"Sixty leagues at least," Wolf answered. "Probably closer to eighty."  
  
"That's a long way." Steven winced as he shifted in his saddle.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry I ran away like that back there," Steven apologized.  
  
"It wasn't your fault. Bloodstone was playing games."  
  
"Why did he pick me? Couldn't he have done the same thing to Bismuth - or Amethyst?"  
  
Mister Wolf looked at him. "You're younger, more susceptible."  
  
"That's not really it, is it?" Steven accused.  
  
"No," Wolf admitted, "not really, but it's an answer, of sorts."  
  
"This is another one of those things you aren't going to tell me, isn't it?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Shtu-roll," he replied sympathetically.  
  
Steven sulked about that for a while, but Mister Wolf rode on, seemingly unconcerned by the boy's reproachful silence.

\-----------------------

  
They stopped that night at a Shwarean hostel, which, like all of them, was plain, adequate, and expensive.

 

The next morning the sky had cleared except for billowy patches of white cloud scampering before the brisk wind. The sight of the sun made them all feel better, and there was even some bantering between V and Amy as they rode along - something Steven hadn't heard in all the weeks they'd spent traveling under the gloomy skies of northern Flaxia.  
  
Jasper, however, scarcely spoke that morning, and his face grew more sombre with each passing mile. He was not wearing his armor, but instead a mail suit and a deep orange surcoat. His head was bare, and the wind tugged at his white, lustrous mane.  
  
On a nearby hilltop a bleak-looking castle brooded down at them as they passed, its grim walls high and haughty-looking. Jasper seemed to avoid looking at it, and his face became even more melancholy.  
  
Steven found it difficult to make up his mind about Jasper.

He was honest enough with himself to admit that much of his thinking was still clouded by Lars’s prejudices.

He didn't really want to like Jasper; but aside from the habitual gloominess which seemed characteristic of all Flaxen and the studied and involuted bluntness of the man's speech and his towering self confidence, there seemed little actually to dislike.  
  
A half league along the road from the castle, a ruin sat at the top of a long rise. It was not much more than a single wall with a high archway in the center and broken columns on either side. Near the ruin a woman sat on horseback, her dark blue cape flowing in the wind.  
  
Without a word, almost without seeming to think about it, Jasper turned his warhorse from the road and cantered up the rise toward the woman, who watched his approach without any seeming surprise, but also with no particular pleasure.  
  
"Where's he going?" Amethyst asked.  
  
"She's an acquaintance of his," Mister Wolf said dryly.  
  
"Are we supposed to wait for him?"  
  
"He can catch up with us," Wolf replied.  
  
Jasper had stopped his horse near the woman and dismounted. He bowed to her and held out his hands to help her down from her horse. They walked together toward the ruin, not touching, but walking very close to each other. They stopped beneath the archway and talked. Behind the ruin, clouds raced in the windy sky, and their enormous shadows swept uncaring across the mournful fields of Flaxia.  
  
"We should have taken a different route," Wolf said. "I wasn't thinking, I guess."  
  
"Is there some problem?" Bismuth asked.  
  
"Nothing unusual - in Flaxia," Wolf answered. "I suppose it's my fault. Sometimes I forget the kind of things that can happen to young people."  
  
"Don't be cryptic, father," Aunt Pearl told him. "It's very irritating. Is this something we should know about?"  
  
Wolf shrugged. "It isn't any secret," he replied. "Half of Flaxia knows about it. A whole generation of Flaxen virgins cry themselves to sleep every night over it."  
  
" **_Father_ ** ," Aunt Pearl snapped exasperatedly.  
  
"All right," Wolf said. "When Jasper was about Steven’s age, he showed a great deal of promise-- strong, courageous, not too bright-- **_all_ ** the qualities that make a good knight. His father asked me for advice, and I made arrangements for the young man to live for a while with the Baron of I'chir Gaspard - that's his castle back there. The baron had an enormous reputation, and he provided Jasper with the kind of instruction he needed. Jasper and the baron became almost like father and son, since the baron was quite a bit older. Everything was going along fine until the baron got married. His bride, however, was much younger - about Jasper’s age."  
  
"I think I see where this is going," Bismuth remarked disapprovingly.  
  
"Not exactly," Wolf disagreed. "After the honeymoon, the baron returned to his customary knightly pursuits and left a very bored young lady wandering around his castle. It's a situation with all kinds of interesting possibilities. Anyway, Jasper and the lady exchanged glances - then words - the usual sort of thing."  
  
"It happens in Delmarvia too," Bismuth observed, "but I'm sure the name we have for it is different from the one they use here." His tone was critical, even offended.  
  
"You're jumping to conclusions, Bismuth," Wolf told him. "Things never went any further. It might have been better if they had. Adultery isn't really all that serious, and in time they'd have gotten bored with it. But, since they both loved and respected the baron too much to dishonor him, Jasper left the castle before things could get out of hand. Now they both suffer in silence. It's all very touching, but it seems like a waste of time to me. Of course I'm older."  
  
"You're older than everyone, here, Greg," Aunt Pearl said.  
  
"You didn't have to say it like **_that_ ** , Pearl."  
  
V laughed sardonically. "I'm glad to see that our stupendous friend at least has the bad taste to fall in love with another man's wife. His nobility was beginning to get rather cloying."

The little woman's expression had that bitter, self mocking cast to it Steven had first seen in Van Sangria when they had spoken with Queen Perla.  
  
"Does the baron know about it?" Bismuth asked.  
  
"Naturally," Wolf replied. "That's the part that makes the Flaxen get all mushy inside about it. There was a knight once, stupider than most Flax, who made a bad joke about it. The baron promptly challenged him and ran a lance through him during the duel. Since then very few people have found the situation humorous."  
  
"It's still disgraceful," Bismuth said.  
  
"Their behavior's above reproach, Bismuth," Aunt Pearl maintained firmly. "There's no shame in it as long as it doesn't go any further."  
  
"Decent people don't allow it to happen in the first place," Bismuth asserted.  
  
"You'll never convince her, Bismuth," Mister Wolf told the smith. "Polina spent too many years associating with the Volunite Flaxen. They were as bad or worse than the Gelarians. You can't wallow in that kind of sentimentality for that long without some of it rubbing off. Fortunately it hasn't totally blotted out her good sense. She's only occasionally girlish and gushy. If you can avoid her during those seizures, it's almost as if there was nothing wrong with her."  
  
"My time was spent a little more usefully than yours, father," Aunt Pearl observed acidly. "As I remember, you spent those years carousing in the waterfront dives in Canaar. And then there was that uplifting period you spent amusing the depraved women of Lanzalore. I'm certain those experiences broadened your concept of morality enormously."  
  
Mister Wolf coughed uncomfortably and looked away.  
  
Behind them, Jasper had remounted and begun to gallop back down the hill. The lady stood in the archway with her blue cloak billowing in the wind, watching him as he rode away.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------  
  
They were five days on the road before they reached the River Flax, the boundary between Flaxia and Shwar. The weather improved as they moved farther south, and by the morning when they reached the hill overlooking the river, it was almost warm. The sun was very bright, and a few fleecy clouds raced overhead in the fresh breeze.  
  
"The high road to I'chir Gelar branches to the left just there," Jasper remarked.  
  
"Yes," Wolf said. "Let's go down into that grove near the river and make ourselves a bit more presentable. Appearances are very important in I'chir Gelar, and we don't want to arrive looking like vagabonds."  
  
Three brown-robed and hooded figures stood humbly at the crossroads, their faces down and their hands held out in supplication. Mister Wolf reined in his horse and approached them. He spoke with them briefly, then gave each a coin.  
  
"Who are they?" Steven asked.  
  
"Monks from La Zellan," V replied.  
  
"Where's that?"  
  
"It's a monastery in southeastern Shwar where Lanzalore used to be," Silk told him. "The monks try to comfort the spirits of the Lazuli."  
  
Mister Wolf motioned to them, and they rode on past the three humble figures at the roadside. "They say that no Isyaki have passed here in the last two weeks."  
  
"Are you sure you can believe them?" Ruby asked.  
  
"Probably. The monks won't lie to anybody."  
  
"Then they'll tell anybody who comes by that we've passed here?" Amethyst asked.  
  
Wolf nodded. "They'll answer any question anybody puts to them."  
  
"Well, shit." Amethyst grunted darkly.  
  
Mister Wolf shrugged and led the way among the trees beside the river.

"This ought to do," he decided, dismounting in a grassy glade. He waited while the others climbed down from their horses.

"All right," he told them, "we're going to I'chir Gelar. I want you all to be careful about what you say there. Gelarians are very touchy, and the slightest word can be taken as an insult."  
  
"I think you should wear the white robe Dewey gave you, father," Aunt Pearl interrupted, pulling open one of the packs.  
  
"Please, Pearl," Wolf said, "I'm trying to explain something."  
  
"They heard you, father. You tend to overstress over all the wrong things." She held up the white robe and looked at it critically. "You should have folded it more carefully. You've wrinkled it."  
  
"I'm not going to wear that **_thing_ ** ," he declared flatly.  
  
"Yes, you are, Greg," she told him sweetly. "We might have to argue about it for an hour or two, but you'll wind up wearing it in the end anyway. Why not just save yourself all the time and aggravation?"  
  
" **_It's silly_ ** ," he complained.  
  
"Lots of things are silly, father. I know the Flaxen better than you do. You'll get more respect if you look the part. Jasper and Ruby and Amethyst will wear their armor; Bismuth and V and Steven can wear the doublets Dewey gave them in Delmar; I'll wear my peaxh gown, and you'll wear the white robe. I insist, father."  
  
"You **_what_ ** ? Now listen here, you little-"  
  
"Be still, father," she said absently, examining Steven’s blue doublet.  
  
Wolf's face darkened, and his eyes bulged dangerously.  
  
"Was there something else?" she asked with a level gaze.  
  
Mister Wolf let it drop.  
  
"He's as wise as they say he is," V observed.

 

\----------------------  
  
An hour later they were on the high road to I'chir Gelar under a sunny sky. Jasper, once again in full armor and with an orange and silver pennon streaming from the tip of his lance, led the way with Amethyst in her gleaming mail shirt and black pantherskin cape riding immediately behind him. At Aunt Pearl's insistence, the big Wy-Atian had combed the tangles out of her purple mane and even rebraided it. Mister Wolf in his white robe rode sourly, muttering to himself, and Aunt Pearl sat her horse demurely at his side in a short, fur-lined cape and with a peach satin circlet surmounting the heavy mass of her dark hair. Steven and Bismuth were ill at ease in their finery, but V wore her doublet and black velvet cap with a kind of exuberant flair. Ruby’s sole concession to formality had been the replacement of a ring of beaten silver for the leather thong which usually caught in her scalp lock.  
  
The serfs and even the occasional knight they encountered along the way stood aside and saluted respectfully. The day was warm, the road was good, and their horses were strong.

By midafternoon they crested a high hill overlooking the plain which sloped down to the gates of I'chir Gelar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave it up to you guys to decide who mystery girl is.


	11. A Game Of Thrones : Finale Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in the crown capital of Flaxia, Steven finds himself once again at the centre of the spider's web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets bloody. Enjoy the carnage.

**THE CITY OF THE GELARITE FLAXEN** reared almost like a mountain beside the sparkling river. Its thick, high walls were surmounted by massive battlements, and great towers and slender spires with bright banners at their tips rose within the walls, gleaming golden in the afternoon sun.

 

"Behold I'chir Gelar," Jasper proclaimed with pride, "The Indestructible, The Indomitable. Upon that rock the tide of Alabastia crashed and recoiled and crashed again. Upon this field met they their ruin. The soul and pride of Flaxia resides within that fortress, and the power of the Accursed Diamond may never prevail against it."

"Yes, we know, Jasper," Mister Wolf said surly. “After all, we've been here before.”

"Don't be impolite, father," Aunt Pearl told the old man. 

 

Then she turned to Jasper and to Steven’s amazement she spoke in an idiom he had never heard from her lips before. 

 

"Wilt thou, Ser Knight, convey us presently into the palace of thy king? We must needs take council with him in matters of gravest urgency." She delivered this without the least trace of self-consciousness as if the archaic formality came quite naturally to her. "Forasmuch as thou art the mightiest knight on life itself, we place ourselves under the protection of thy arm."

 

Jasper, after a startled instant, slid with a crash from his warhorse and sank to his knees before her. 

"My Pearl," he replied in a voice throbbing with respect - with reverence even, "I accept thy charge and will convey thee safely unto King Lavirintos. Should any man question thy paramount right to the king's attention, I shall prove his folly upon his body."

 

Aunt Pearl smiled at him encouragingly, and he vaulted into his saddle with a clang and led the way at a rolling trot, his whole bearing seething with a willingness to do battle.

"What was that all about?" Wolf asked.

"Jasper needed something to take his mind off his troubles," she replied. "He's been out of sorts for the last few days."

 

\---------------------------------------

 

As they drew closer to the city, Steven could see the scars on the great walls where heavy stones from the Alabastian catapults had struck the unyielding rock. 

The battlements high above were chipped and pitted from the impact of showers of steel-tipped arrows. The stone archway that led into the city revealed the incredible thickness of the walls, and the ironbound gate was massive. They clattered through the archway and into the narrow, crooked streets. 

The people they passed seemed for the most part to be commoners, who quickly moved aside. The faces of the men in dun-colored tunics and the women in patched dresses were dull and uncurious.

"They don't seem very interested in us," Steven commented quietly to Bismuth.

"I don't think the ordinary people and the gentry pay much attention to each other here," Bismuth replied. "They live side by side, but they don't know anything about each other. Maybe that's what's wrong with Flaxia."

Steven nodded soberly.

Although the commoners were indifferent, the nobles at the palace seemed afire with curiosity. Word of the party's entrance into the city apparently had raced ahead of them through the narrow streets, and the windows and parapets of the palace were alive with people in brightly colored clothes.

 

"Abate thy pace, My Good Ser Knight," a tall man with dark hair and beard, wearing a black velvet surcoat over his polished mail, called down from the parapet to Jasper as they clattered into the broad plaza before the palace. "Lift thy visor so that I may know thee."

Jasper stopped in amazement before the closed gate and raised his visor. "What discourtesy is this?" he demanded. "I am, as all the world knows, Jasper, Baron of I'chir Quartizia. Surely thou canst see my crest upon the face of my shield."

"Any man may wear another's crest," the man above declared disdainfully.

Jasper’s face darkened. "Art thou not mindful that no man on life would dare to counterfeit my semblance?" he asked in a dangerous tone.

"Sir Ambry," another knight on the parapet told the dark-haired man, "this is indeed Sir Jasper. I met him on the field of the great tourney last year, and our meeting cost me a broken shoulder and put a ringing in my ears which hath not yet subsided."

"Ah," Sir Ambry replied, "since thou wilt vouch for him, Sir Helios, I will admit that this is indeed the bastard of I'chir Quartizia."

"You're going to have to do something about that one of these days, man," Amethyst said quietly to Jasper. 

"Looks that way," Jasper grumbled. .

"Who, however, are these others with thee who seek admittance, Sir Knight?" Ambry demanded. "I will not cause the gates to open for foreign strangers."

 

Jasper straightened in his saddle. 

"Behold!" he announced in a voice that could probably be heard all over the city. "I bring you honor  **_beyond_ ** measure. Fling wide the palace gate and prepare one and all to make obeisance. You look upon the holy face of Gregarion the Sorcerer, the Eternal Man, and upon the divine countenance of his daughter, the Lady Polina, who have come to I’chir Gelar to consult with the King of Gelaria on diverse matters."

"Isn't that a little overdone?" Steven whispered to Aunt Pearl.

"It's customary, dear," she replied dreamily. "When you're dealing with the Flaxen, you have to be a little extravagant to get their attention."

"And who hath told thee that this is the Lord Gregarion?" Ambry asked with the faintest hint of a sneer. "I will bend no knee before an unproved vagabond."

"Dost thou question my word, Sir Knight?" Jasper returned in an ominously quiet voice. "And wilt thou then come down and put thy doubt to the test? Or is it perhaps that thou wouldst prefer to cringe doglike behind thy parapet and yap at thy betters?"

"Oh, that was very good," Amethyst said admiringly. Jasper grinned tightly at the big man.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere with this," Mister Wolf muttered. "It looks like I'll have to prove something to this skeptic if we're ever going to get in to see Lavirintos." 

 

He slid down from his saddle and thoughtfully removed a twig from his horse's tail, picked up somewhere during their journey. Then he strode to the center of the plaza and stood there in his gleaming white robe. 

"Sir Knight," he called up mildly to Ambry, "you're a cautious man, I see. That's a good quality, but it can be carried too far."

"I am hardly a child, old man," the dark-haired knight replied in a tone hovering on the verge of insult, "and I believe only what mine own eye hath confirmed."

"It must be a sad thing to believe so little," Wolf observed. 

He bent then and inserted the twig he'd been holding between two of the broad granite flagstones at his feet. He stepped back a pace and stretched his hand out above the twig, his face curiously gentle. "I'm going to do you a favor, Sir Ambry," he announced. "I'm going to restore your faith. Watch closely." 

And then he spoke a single soft word that Steven couldn't quite hear, but which set off the now-familiar surge and a faint roaring sound.

At first nothing seemed to be happening. Then the two flagstones began to buckle upward with a grinding sound as the twig grew visibly thicker and began to reach up toward Mister Wolf's outstretched hand. There were gasps from the palace walls as branches began to sprout from the twig as it grew. Wolf raised his hand higher, and the twig obediently grew at his gesture, its branches broadening. By now it was a young tree and still growing. One of the flagstones cracked with a sharp report.

There was absolute silence as every eye fixed in awed fascination on the tree. Mister Wolf held out both hands and turned them until the palms were up. He spoke again, and the tips of the branches swelled and began to bud. Then the tree burst into flower, its blossoms a delicate pink and white.

"Apple, wouldn't you say, Pearl?" Wolf asked over his shoulder.

"So it would seem, father," she replied.

He patted the tree fondly and then turned back to the dark-haired knight who had sunk, white-faced and trembling, to his knees. 

"Well, Sir Ambry," he inquired, "what do you believe now?"

"Please forgive me, Holy Gregarion," Ambry begged in a strangled voice.

 

Mister Wolf drew himself up and spoke sternly, his words slipping into the measured cadences of the Gelarian idiom as easily as Aunt Pearl's had earlier. 

 

"I charge thee, Sir Knight, to care for this tree. It hath grown here to renew thy faith and trust. Thy debt to it must be paid with tender and loving attention to its needs. In time it will bear fruit, and thou wilt gather the fruit and give it freely to any who ask it of thee. For thy soul's sake, thou wilt refuse none, no matter how humble. As the tree gives freely, so shalt thou."

"That's a nice touch," Aunt Pearl approved.

Wolf winked at her.

"I will do even as thou hast commanded me, Holy Gregarion," Sir Ambry choked. "I pledge my heart to it."

Mister Wolf returned to his horse. 

"At least he'll do one useful thing in his life," he muttered.

 

After that there was no further discussion. The palace gate creaked open, and they all rode into the inner courtyard and dismounted. Jasper led them past kneeling and even sobbing nobles who reached out to touch Mister Wolf's robe as he passed. At Jasper’s heels they walked through the broad, tapestried hallways with a growing throng behind them. The door to the throne room opened, and they entered.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

The Flax throne room was a great, vaulted hall with sculptured buttresses soaring upward along the walls. 

Tall, narrow windows rose between the buttresses, and the light streaming through their stained glass panels was jeweled. 

The floor was polished marble, and on the carpeted stone platform at the far end stood the double throne of Flaxia, backed by heavy purple drapes. 

Flanking the draped wall hung the massive antique weapons of twenty generations of Flaxen royalty. Lances, maces, and huge swords, taller than any man, hung among the tattered war banners of forgotten kings.

 

Lavirintos of Flaxia was a sickly-looking young man in a gold embroidered purple robe, and he wore his large gold crown as if it were too heavy for him. Beside him on the double throne sat his pale, beautiful queen. Together they watched somewhat apprehensively as the throng surrounding Mister Wolf approached the wide steps leading up to the throne.

 

"My King," Jasper announced, dropping to one knee, "I bring into thy presence Holy Gregarion, Disciple of The Hallowed One and the staff upon which the kingdoms of the West have leaned since time began."

"He knows who I am, Jasper," Mister Wolf said gently. 

He stepped forward and bowed briefly. 

"Hail Lavirintos and Kimeia," he greeted the king and queen. "I'm sorry we haven't had the chance to get acquainted before."

"The honor is ours, noble Gregarion," the young king replied in a voice whose rich timbre belied his frail appearance.

"My father spoke often of thee," the queen said.

"We were good friends," Wolf told her. "Allow me to present my daughter, Polina."

"Great Lady," the king responded with a respectful inclination of his head. "All the world knows of thy power, but men have forgotten to speak of thy beauty."

"We'll get along well together," Aunt Pearl answered warmly, smiling at him.

"My heart trembles at the sight of the flower of all womanhood," the queen declared.

Aunt Pearl looked at the queen thoughtfully. "We must talk, Kimeia," she said in a serious tone, "in private and very soon."

The queen looked startled.

Mister Wolf introduced the rest of them, and each bowed in turn to the young king.

"Welcome, gentles all," Lavirintos said. "My poor court is overwhelmed by so noble a company."

"We don't have much time, Levi," Mister Wolf told him. "The courtesy of the Flaxenite throne is the marvel of the world. I don't want to offend you and your lovely queen by cutting short those stately observances which so ornament your court, but I have certain news which I have to present to you in private. The matter is of extreme urgency."

"Then I am at thy immediate disposal," the king replied, rising from his throne. "Forgive us, dear friends," he said to the assembled nobles, "but this ancient friend of our kingly line hath information which must be imparted to our ears alone with utmost urgency. I pray thee, let us go apart for a little space of time to receive this instruction. We shall return presently."

"Pearl," Mister Wolf said.

"Go ahead, Greg," she replied. "Just now I have to speak with Kimeia about something that's very important to her."

"Can't it wait?"

"No. I'm afraid it can't." And with that she took the queen's arm, and the two left. 

Mister Wolf stared after her for a moment; then he shrugged, and he and Lavirintos also left the throne room. An almost shocked silence followed their departure.

"Most unseemly," an old courtier with wispy white hair disapproved. 

"A necessary haste, I'm afraid," Jasper informed him. "As the revered Gregation hath intimated, our mission is the hinge-pin of the survival of all the kingdoms of the west. Our Ancient Foe may soon be abroad again. It will not be long, I fear, ere Gelarian knights will again stand the brunt of titanic war."

"Blessed then be the tongue which brings the news," the white-haired old man declared. "I had feared that I had seen my last battle and would die abed in my dotage. I thank the Great Yellow Diamond that I still have my vigor, and that my prowess is undiminished by the passage of a mere fourscore years."

 

\-----------------------------

 

Steven drew off by himself to one side of the room to wrestle with a problem. 

Events had swept him into King Lavirintos’s court before he had had the time to prepare himself for an unpleasant duty. 

He had given his word to Lars to bring certain things to the king's attention, but he did not have the faintest idea how to begin. The exaggerated formality of the Flaxen court intimidated him. 

This was not at all like the rough, good-natured court of King Thur-Man in Van Sangria or the almost homey court of King Dewey in Delmarvia. 

This was I'chir Gelar, and the prospect of blurting out news of the wild scheme of a group of Tusconian firebrands as he had blurted out the news of the Earl of Jar-Vis in Wy-Ate now seemed utterly out of the question.

 

Suddenly the thought of that previous event struck him forcibly. The situation then was so similar to this one that it seemed all at once like some elaborate game. 

The moves on the board were almost identical, and in each case he had been placed in the uncomfortable position of being required to block that last crucial move where a king would die and a kingdom would collapse. 

 

He felt oddly powerless, as if his entire life were in the fingers of two faceless players maneuvering pieces in the same patterns on some vast board in a game that, for all he knew, had lasted for eternity. There was no question about what had to be done. The players, however, seemed content to leave it up to him to come up with a way to do it.

 

King Lavirintos appeared shaken when he returned to the throne room with Mister Wolf a half hour later, and he controlled his expression with obvious difficulty. 

"Forgive me, gentles all," he apologized, "but I have had disturbing news. For the present time, however, let us put aside our cares and celebrate this historic visit. Summon musicians and command that a banquet be made ready."

There was a stir near the door, and a black-robed man entered with a half dozen Gelarian knights in full armor following him closely, their eyes narrow with suspicion and their hands on their sword hilts as if daring anyone to bar their leader's path. 

As the robed man strode nearer, Steven saw his angular eyes and scarred cheeks. The man was an Isyaki.

Amethyst put a firm hand on Ruby's trembling sword-arm.

The Isyaki had obviously dressed in haste and he seemed slightly breathless from his burned trip to the throne room. 

"Your Majesty," he rasped, bowing deeply to Lavirintos, "I have just been advised that visitors have arrived at thy court and have made haste here to greet them in the name of my king, Tor Unalaq."

Lavirintos's face grew cold. "I do not recall summoning thee, Bokk," he said.

"It is, then, as I had feared," the Isyaki replied. "These messengers have spoken ill of my race, seeking to dissever the friendship which doth exist between the thrones of Flaxia and of Sivu Isyak. I am chagrined to find that thou bast given ear to slanders without offering me opportunity to reply. Is this just, august Majesty?"

"Who is this?" Mister Wolf asked Lavirintos.

"Bokk," the king replied, "the ambassador of Sivu Isyak. Shall I introduce thee to him, Ancient One?"

"That won't be necessary," Mister Wolf answered bleakly. "Every Isyaki alive knows who I am. Mothers in Sivu Isyak frighten their children into obedience by mentioning my name."

"But I am not a child, old man," Bokk sneered. "I'm not afraid of you."

"That could be a serious failing," V offhandedly remarked. 

 

The Isyaki’s name had struck Steven almost like a blow. 

As he looked at the scarred face of the man who had so misled Lars and his friends, he realized that the players had once again moved their pieces into that last crucial position, and that who would win and who would lose once again depended entirely on him.

"What lies have you told the king?" Bokk was demanding of Mister Wolf.

"No lies, Bokk," Wolf said innocently. "Just the truth. That should be enough."

"I protest, your Majesty," Bokk appealed to the king. "I protest in the strongest manner possible. All the world knows of his hatred for my people. How can you allow him to poison your mind against us?"

"He forgot the thees and thous that time," V commented slyly.

"Aww, he's excited," Amethyst replied. “You Isyaki get so clumsy when you’re excited. It's one of your shortcomings."

"Sangrians!" Bokk spat.

"That's right, ‘syaki," Amy said coldly. She was still gripping Ruby’s arm tightly.

Bokk looked at them, and then his eyes widened as he seemed to see Ruby for the first time. He recoiled from the lanky gem’s hate-filled stare, and his half dozen knights closed protectively around him. 

"Your Majesty," he rasped, "I know that man to be Ruby of Aine, a known murderer. I demand that you arrest him."

"Demand, Bokk?" the king asked with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Thou wilt present demands to me in my own court?"

"Forgive me, your Majesty," Bokk apologized quickly. "The sight of that animal so disturbed me that I forgot myself."

"You'd be wise to leave now, Bokk," Mister Wolf recommended. "It's not really a good idea for an Isyaki to be alone in the presence of so many Sangrians. Accidents have a way of happening under such conditions."

 

"Grandfather," Steven said urgently. Without knowing exactly why, he knew that it was time to speak. 

Bokk could not be allowed to leave the throne room. The faceless players had made their final moves, and the game must end here. 

"Grandfather," he repeated, "there's something I have to tell you."

" **_Not now_ ** , Steven." Wolf was still looking with hard eyes at the Isyaki.

"It's important, grandfather.  **_Very_ ** important."

 

Mister Wolf turned as if to reply sharply, but then he seemed to see something - something that no one else in the throne room could see and his eyes widened in momentary amazement. 

"All right, Steven," he said in a strangely quiet voice. "Go ahead."

"Some men are planning to kill the king of Flaxia. Bokk’s one of them." Steven had said it louder than he'd intended, and a sudden silence fell over the throne room at his words.

 

Bokk’s face went pale, and his hand moved involuntarily toward his sword hilt, then froze. Steven was suddenly keenly aware of Amethyst hulking just behind him and Ruby, grim as death in black leather towering beside him. In days to follow that incident, he would admit that he had never felt quite so powerful, and so protected, as he did in that very moment. 

Bokk stepped back and made a quick gesture to his steel-clad knights. Quickly they formed a protective ring around him, their hands on their weapons. 

"I shan’t stay and listen to such slander," the Isyaki declared.

"I have not yet given thee my permission to withdraw, my dear Bokk," Lavirintos informed him, clucking his tongue. "I require thy presence yet a while." The young king's face was stern, and his eyes bored into the Isyaki’s. 

Then he turned to Steven. "I would hear more of this. Speak truthfully, lad, and fear not reprisal from any man for thy words."

Steven drew a deep breath and spoke carefully. "I don't really know all the details, your Majesty," he explained. "I found out about it by accident."

"Say what thou canst," the king told him.

"As nearly as I can tell, your Majesty, next summer when you travel to I'chir Tusconia, a group of men are going to try to kill you somewhere on the highway."

"Tusconian traitors, doubtless," a gray-haired courtier suggested.

"They call themselves patriots," Steven answered.

"Inevitably," the courtier sneered.

"Such attempts are not uncommon," the king stated. "We will take steps to guard against them. I thank thee for this information."

"There's more, your Majesty," Steven added. "When they attack, they're going to be wearing the uniforms of Shwarean legionnaires."

V whistled sharply. 

"The whole idea is to make your nobles believe that you've been killed by the Shwareans," Steven continued. "These men are sure that Gelaria will immediately declare war on the Empire, and that as soon as that happens the legions will march in. Then, when everybody here is involved in the war, they're going to announce that Tuscony is no longer subject to the Flaxen throne. They're sure that the rest of Tuscony will follow them at that point."

"I see," the king replied thoughtfully. "'This a well-conceived plan, but with a subtlety uncharacteristic of our wild-eyed Tusconian brothers. But I have yet heard nothing linking the emissary of Tor Unalaq with this treason."

"The whole plan was his, your Majesty. He gave them all the details and the gold to buy the Shwarean uniforms and to encourage other people to join them."

" **_He lies!"_ ** Bokk burst out.

"Thou shalt have opportunity to reply, Bokk," the king advised him. He turned back to Steven. "Let us pursue this matter further. How camest thou by this knowledge?"

"I can't say, your Majesty," Steven replied painfully. "I gave my word not to. One of the men told me about it to prove that he was my friend. He put his life in my hands to show how much he trusted me. I can't betray him."

"Thy loyalty speaks well of thee, young Steven," the king commended him, "but thy accusation against the good ambassador is most grave. Without violating thy trust, canst thou provide corroboration?"

Helplessly, Steven shook his head.

"This is a serious matter, your Majesty," Bokk declared. "I am the personal representative of Tor Unalaq. This  **_lying urchin_ ** is Gregarion’s creature, and his wild, unsubstantiated story is an obvious attempt to discredit me and to drive a wedge between the thrones of Flaxia and Sivu Isyak. This accusation must not be allowed to stand. The boy must be forced to identify these imaginary plotters or to admit that he lies."

"He hath given his pledge, Bokk," the king pointed out.

"He says so, your Majesty," Bokk replied with a sneer. "Let us put him to the test. An hour on the rack may persuade him to speak freely."

"I've seldom had much faith in confessions obtained by torment," Lavirintos sighed. 

 

"If it please your Majesty," Jasper interjected, "it may be that I can help to resolve this matter."

Steven threw a stricken look at the knight. Jasper knew Lars, and it would be a simple thing for him to guess the truth. 

More importantly, Jasper was a Gelarian, and Lavirintos his king. Not only was he under no compulsion to remain silent, but his duty almost obliged him to speak.

 

"Sir Jasper," the king responded gravely, "thy devotion to truth and duty are legendary. Canst thou perchance identify these plotters?"

The question hung there.

"Nay, Sire," Jasper replied firmly, much to Steven's surprise, "but I know Steven to be a truthful and honest boy. I will vouch for him."

"That's scanty corroboration," Bokk asserted. "I declare that he lies, so where does that leave us?"

"Steven is my companion," Jasper said. "I will not be the instrument of breaking his pledge, since his honor is as dear to me as mine own. By our law, however, a cause incapable of proof may be decided by trial at arms. I will champion this boy. I declare before this company that this Bokk is a foul villain who hath joined with diverse others to slay my king."

 

He pulled off his steel gauntlet and tossed it to the floor. The crash as it struck the polished stone seemed thunderous. 

"Take up my gage,  **_Isyaki_ ** ," Jasper said coldly, "or let one of thy sycophant knights take it up for thee. I will prove thy villainy upon thy body or upon the body of thy champion."

Bokk stared first at the mailed gauntlet and then at the great knight standing accusingly before him. He licked his lips nervously and looked around the throne room. Except for Jasper, none of the Gelarian nobles present were under arms. 

Caught, with nowhere to run, Steven saw Book's eyes narrow with a sudden desperation. 

" **_Kill him_ ** !" he snarled at the six men in armor surrounding him.

The knights looked shocked, doubtful.

" **_Kill him!"_ ** Bokk commanded them. "A thousand gold pieces to the man who spills out his life!"

 

The faces of the six knights went flat at his words. As one man they drew their swords and spread out, moving with raised shields toward Jasper. There were gasps and cries of alarm as the nobles and their ladies scrambled out of the way.

"What treason is this?" Jasper demanded of them, all traces of that Gelarian formality gone. "Are you so weak of mind that this Isyaki and his gold is all it'll take to draw weapons in the king's presence in  **_open defiance_ ** of the law's prohibitions? Put up your swords."

But they ignored his words and continued their grim advance.

"Defend thyself, Sir Jasper," Lavirintos urged, half rising from his throne. "I free thee of the law's constraint."

 

Amethyst, however, had already begun to move. Noting that Jasper had not carried his shield into the throne room, the purple-haired gem jerked an enormous two-handed broadsword down from the array of banners and weapons at one side of the dais. 

"Hey Jasper!" she shouted and with a great heave she slid the huge blade skittering and bouncing across the stone floor toward the knight's feet. Jasper stopped the sliding weapon with one mailed foot, stooped, and picked it up.

The approaching knights looked a bit less confident as Jasper hefted the six-foot blade with both hands.

Amethyst, grinning hugely, drew both her cruelest-looking whips from her gem and cast them onto the ground with a loud smack. Ruby, her mailed fist held low and her cape drawn about her, was circling the clumsy knights on catlike feet. 

Without thinking, Steven reached for his own sword, but Mister Wolf's hand closed on his wrist.

"This isn't your fight, Shtu-roll." the old man told him and pulled him clear of the impending fight.

 

Jasper’s first blow crashed against a quickly raised shield, shattering the arm of a knight with a crimson surcoat over his armor and hurling him into a clattering heap ten feet away. 

Amethyst parried a sword stroke from a burly knight with the butt of her whip and swung at the man's helm shield with her own heavy whip. 

Ruby toyed expertly with a knight in green-enameled armor, easily avoiding her opponent's awkward strokes and purposefully flicking the point of her spiked fist just inches away from the man's visored face.

The steely ring of sword on sword echoed through Lavirintos’s throne room, and showers of sparks cascaded from the clash of edge against edge. 

With huge blows, Jasper smashed at a second man. A vast sweep of his two-handed sword went under the knight's shield, and the man shrieked as the great blade bit through his armor and into his side. Then he fell with blood spouting from the sheared-in gash that cleaved halfway through his body.

Amethyst, with a taut tug of her whip, caved in the side of the burly knight's helmet as he came crashing into her elbow, and the knight half spun and fell to the floor. 

Ruby feinted a quick move, then drove her spiked digits in an straight-handed gesture through a slot in the green-armored knight's visor. 

The stricken knight stiffened as the spring-loaded spiked tips thrust the cruel implements through his skull and into his brain.

As the melee surged across the polished floor, the nobles and ladies scurried this way and that to avoid being overrun by the struggling men. 

Bokk watched with dismay as his knights were systematically destroyed before his eyes. Then, quite suddenly he turned and fled.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

"He's getting away!" Steven shouted, but Ruby, as if waiting for those words, was already in pursuit, her dreadful face and blood-smeared fist melting the courtiers and their screaming ladies out of her path as she ran to cut off Bokk’s flight. 

The Isyaki had almost reached the far end of the hall before Ruby’s long strides carried her through the crowd to block the doorway. 

With a cry of despair, the ambassador yanked his sword from its scabbard, and Steven felt a strange, momentary pity for him.

 

As the Isyaki raised his sword, Ruby reached forward to grab it firmly, materialising another fist to punch solidly through both his shoulders. There was a pitiful, sickening cry that rang out in the throne room as the spring-loaded spiked tips severed tendons and shattered bone. Bokk desperately tried to raise his numbed arms to protect his head, but Ruby’s fist angled low instead. 

Then, with a peculiar fluid grace, the grim-faced Ainur quite deliberately ran the Isyaki through.

 

Garion saw the spiked tips come out the top of his head from where it had connected near the bridge of Book's nose, angling sharply upward. The ambassador gasped, dropped his sword and gripped Ruby’s wrist with both hands, but the gem, her eyes burning, inexorably straightened her hand further, driving her spikes deeper inside the Isyaki’s body. 

 

A peculiar thing happened then. Her spiked fist caught on fire. The fire spread from the base of her fist,  **_through_ ** Bokk's face following the gauntlet, and ended at the spiked tips. 

Bokk's face shuddered horribly in his death throes as his face began to melt from the spontaneous conflagration of her arm. Then his hands slipped off Ruby's wrist and his legs buckled under him. With a gurgling sigh, he fell forward, his entire body weight resting on the fulcrum that was Ruby's implanted fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valar Morghulis. Bokk first.


	12. Eternity In An Hour : Finale Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot foiled, the Fellowship take a moment to relax before their journey into Shwar.

**A MOMENT OF DREADFUL SILENCE** filled the throne room following the death of Bokk. 

Then the two members of his bodyguard who were still on their feet threw their weapons down on the bloodspattered floor with a sudden clatter. 

Jasper raised his visor and turned toward the throne. 

 

"Sire," he said respectfully, "the treachery of Bokk stands proved by reason of this trial at arms:"

"Truly," the king agreed. "My only regret is that thy enthusiasm in pursuing this cause hath deprived us of the opportunity to probe more deeply into the full extent of Bokk’s duplicity."

"I expect that the plots he hatched will dry up once word of what happened here gets around," Mister Wolf observed.

"Perhaps so," the king acknowledged. "I would have pursued the matter further, however. I would know if this villainy was Bokk's own or if I must look beyond him to Tor Unalaq himself." 

He frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head as if to put certain dark speculations aside. 

"Flaxia stands in thy debt, Ancient Gregarion. This brave company of throe hath forestalled the renewal of a war best forgotten." He looked sadly at the blood-smeared floor and the bodies littering it. "My throne room hath become as a battlefield. The curse of Flaxia extends even here." He sighed. "Have it cleansed," he ordered shortly and turned his head so that he would not have to watch the grim business of cleaning up.

 

The nobles and ladies began to buzz as the dead were removed and the polished stone floor was quickly mopped to remove the pools of sticky blood.

 

"Good fight," Amethyst commented as her whips evaporated.

"I owe you one, runt," Jasper quietly uttered. "Couldn’t’ve done it without you."

Amethyst shrugged. "Don’t mention it, you big lug."

Ruby rejoined them, her expression one of grim satisfaction.

"You did a nice job on Bokk," Amethyst complimented her.

"I've had a lot of practice," Ruby answered. "Isyaki always seem to make that same mistake when they get into a fight. I think there's a gap in their training somewhere."

"That's a shame, isn't it?" Amethyst grinned with vast insincerity.

 

Steven moved away from them. Although he knew it was irrational, he nevertheless felt a keen sense of personal responsibility for the carnage he had just witnessed. The blood and violent death had come about as the result of his words. Had he not spoken, men who were now dead would still be alive. 

No matter how justified -how necessary - his speaking out had been, he still suffered the pangs of guilt. He did not at the moment trust himself to speak with his friends. More than anything he wished that he could talk with Aunt Pearl, but she had not yet returned to the throne room, and so he was left to wrestle alone with his wounded conscience.

 

He reached one of the embrasures formed by the buttresses along the south wall of the throne room and stood alone in somber reflection until a girl, perhaps two years older than he, glided across the floor toward him, her stiff, crimson brocade gown rustling. The girl's hair was dark, even black, and her skin was creamy. Her bodice was cut quite low, and Steven found some difficulty in finding a safe place for his eyes as she bore down on him.

 

"I would add my thanks to the thanks of all Flaxia, Lord Steven," she gushed, breathily. Her voice was vibrant with all kinds of emotions, none of which Steven understood. "Thy timely revelation of the Isyaki’s plotting hath truly saved the life of our sovereign."

Steven felt a certain warmth at that. "I didn't do all that much, my lady," he replied with a somewhat insincere attempt at modesty. "My friends did all the fighting."

"But it was thy brave denunciation which uncovered the foul plot," she persisted, "and virgins will sing of the nobility with which thou protected the identity of thy nameless and misguided friend."

Virgin was not a word with which Steven was prepared to deal. He blushed and floundered helplessly.

"Art thou in truth, noble Steven, the grandson of Gregarion the Eternal?"

"The relationship is a bit more distant. We simplify it for the sake of convenience."

"But thou art in his direct line?" she persisted, her violet eyes glowing.

"He tells me I am."

"Is the Lady Polina perchance thy mother?"

"My aunt."

"A close kinship nonetheless," she approved warmly, her hand coming to rest lightly on his wrist. "Thy blood, Lord Steven, is the noblest in the world. Tell me, art thou perchance as yet unbetrothed?"

Steven blinked at her, his ears growing suddenly redder.

"Ah, Steven," Jasper boomed in his hearty voice, striding into the awkward moment, "I had been seeking thee. Wilt thou excuse us, Countess?"

The young lady shot Jasper a look filled with sheer venom, but the knight's firm hand was already drawing Steven away.

"We will speak again, Lord Steven," she called after him.

"I hope so, my Lady," Steven replied back over his shoulder. Then he and Jasper merged with the crowd of courtiers near the center of the throne room.

"I wanted to thank you, Jasper," Steven said finally, struggling with it a little.

"For what, Steve?"

"You knew whom I was protecting when I told the King about Bokk, didn't you?"

"Obviously," the knight replied in a rather offhand way.

"You could have told the king,- actually it was your duty to tell him, wasn't it?"

"But you’d already given your word."

"You hadn't, though."

"You are my companion, Steven. The silent oath between the both of you applies to me as well. Didn’t you know that?"

Steven was startled by Jasper’s words. The exquisite involvement of Flaxen ethics were beyond his grasp. "So you fought for me instead."

Jasper laughed easily. "Of course," he answered, "though, I’d be lying if I said that I stood up for you entirely out of friendship. Actually, I found that puny, overcooked Isyaki bastard offensive and his lapdogs even more so. I was ready to fight them long before the opportunity presented itself. So allow me to thank you too, Steven, for this glorious chance."

"I don't understand you at all, Jasper," Steven admitted. "Sometimes I think you're the most complicated man I've ever met."

"I?" Jasper seemed amazed. "I am but a simple man." He looked around then and leaned slightly toward Steven. "Although, I must advise you to be weary of Countess Vanessa," he warned. "It was she who compelled me to draw you aside"

"Who?"

"The lovely young lady to whom you were speaking. She considers herself the greatest beauty in the kingdom and is seeking a husband worthy of her."

"Husband?" Steven responded in a faltering voice.

"You’re considered fair game, Steven. Your blood is noble beyond measure by reason of thy kinship to your Grandfather Greg. Your value is thus immeasurable."

"Husband?" Steven quavered at.in, his knees beginning to tremble. "Me?"

"I do not know how the marriage laws are in Delmarvia," Jasper declared, "but in Flaxia you are indeed of marriageable age. Choose your words carefully, Steven. The most innocent remark can be viewed as a promise, should a noble choose to take it that way."

Steven swallowed hard and looked around apprehensively. After that he did his best to hide. His nerves, he felt, were not up to any more shocks.

 

The Countess Vanessa, however, proved to be a skilled huntress. With appalling determination she tracked him down and pinned him in another embrasure with smoldering eyes and heaving bosom. 

"Now perchance we may continue our most interesting discussion, Lord Steven," she purred at him.

Steven was considering flight when Aunt Pearl, accompanied by a now radiant Queen Kimeia, reentered the throne room. Jasper spoke briefly to her, and she immediately crossed to the spot where the violet-eyed countess held Steven captive.

"Steven, dear," she said as she approached. "It's time for your medicine."

"Medicine?" he replied, confused.

"A most forgetful boy," she told the countess. "Probably it was all the excitement, but he knows that if he doesn't take the potion every three hours, the madness will return."

"Madness?" the Countess Vanessa repeated sharply.

"The curse of his family," Aunt Pearl sighed. "They all have it-- all the male children. The potion works for a while, but of course it's only temporary. We'll have to find some patient and self sacrificing lady soon, so that he can marry and father children before his brains begin to soften. After that his poor wife will be doomed to spend the rest of her days caring for him." She looked critically at the young countess. "I wonder," she said. "Could it be possible that you are as yet unbetrothed? You appear to be of a suitable age." She reached out and briefly took hold of Vanessa’s rounded arm. "Nice and strong," she said approvingly. "I'll speak to my father, Lord Gregarion, about this immediately."

The countess began to back away, her eyes wide.

"Come back," Aunt Pearl told her. "His fits won't start for several minutes yet."

The girl fled.

"Can't you ever stay out of trouble?" Aunt Pearl demanded of Steven, leading him firmly away.

"But I didn't say anything," he objected.

 

Jasper joined them, grinning broadly. "That was quite the show, my Lady. I had actually expected her to be a bit more persistent than that."

"I gave her something to worry about. It dampened her enthusiasm for matrimony."

"What matter did you discuss with our queen?" he asked. "I have not seen her smile like that in years."

"Kimeia had a problem of a female nature. I don't think you'd understand."

"Her inability to carry a child to term?"

"Don't Flaxen have anything better to do than gossip about things that don't concern them? Why don't you go find another fight instead of asking intimate questions?"

"The matter is of great concern to us all, my Lady," Jasper apologized. "If our queen does not produce an heir to the throne, we stand in danger of dynastic war. All Flaxia could go up in flames."

"There aren't going to be any flames, Jasper. Fortunately I arrived in time - though it was very close. You'll have a crown prince before winter."

"Is it possible?"

"Would you like all the details?" she asked pointedly. "I've noticed that men usually prefer not to know about the exact mechanics involved in childbearing."

Jasper’s face slowly flushed. "I-I understand," he replied quickly.

"I'm so glad."

"I must inform the king," he declared.

"You must mind your own business, Sir Jasper. The queen will tell Lavirintos what he needs to know. Why don't you go clean off your armor? You look as if you just walked through a slaughterhouse."

He bowed, still blushing, and moved away.

 

"Men!" she said to his retreating back. Then she turned back to Steven. "I hear that you've been busy."

"I had to warn the king," he replied.

"You seem to have an absolute genius for getting mixed up in this sort of thing. Why didn't you tell me - or your grandfather."

"I promised that I wouldn't say anything."

"Steven," she said firmly, "under our present circumstances, secrets are very dangerous. You knew that what Lars told you was important, didn't you?"

"I didn't say it was Lars."

She shot him a look that would have made flowers wilt. 

"Steven, dear," she told him bluntly, "don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I'm stupid."

"I didn't," he floundered. "I wasn't. I - Aunt Pearl, I gave them my word that I wouldn't tell anybody."

She sighed. "We've got to get you out of Flaxia," she declared. "The place seems to be affecting your good sense. The next time you feel the urge to make one of these startling public announcements, talk it over with me first, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Oh, Steven, what am I ever going to do with you?" Then she laughed fondly and put her arm about his shoulder and everything was all right again.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The evening passed uneventfully after that. The banquet was tedious, and the toasts afterward interminable as each Flaxen noble arose in turn to salute Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl with flowery and formal speeches. They went to bed late, and Steven slept fitfully, troubled by nightmares of the hot-eyed countess pursuing him through endless, flower-strewn corridors.

 

They were up early the next morning, and after breakfast Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf spoke privately with the king and queen again. Steven, still nervous about his encounter with the Countess Vanessa, stayed close to Jasper. The Gelarian knight seemed best equipped to help him avoid any more such adventures. They waited in an antechamber to the throne room, and Jasper in his sandy surcoat explained at length an intricate tapestry which covered one entire wall.

 

About midmorning Sir Ambry, the dark-haired knight Mister Wolf had ordered to spend his days caring for the tree in the plaza, came looking for Jasper. 

"Sir Knight," he said, his tone now respectful, "the Baron of I’chir Gaspard hath arrived from the north accompanied by his lady. They have asked after thee and besought me that I should seek thee out for them."

"Thou art most kind, Sir Ambry," Jasper replied, rising quickly from the bench where he had been sitting. "Thy courtesy becomes thee greatly."

Ambry sighed. "Alas that it was not always so. I have this past night stood vigil before that miraculous tree which Holy Belgarath commended to my care. I thus had leisure to consider my life in retrospect. I have not been an admirable man. Bitterly I repent my faults and will strive earnestly for amendment."

Wordlessly, Jasper clasped the knight's hand and then followed him down a long hallway to a room where the visitors waited.

 

\-------------------------------

 

It was not until they entered the sunlit room that Steven remembered that the wife of the Baron of I’chir Gaspard was the lady to whom Jasper had spoken on that windswept hill beside the Great Western Road some days before.

 

The baron was a solid-looking man in a green surcoat, and his hair and beard were touched with white. His eyes were deep-set, and there seemed to be a great sadness in them. 

"My lad," he said, warmly embracing the younger knight. "Thou art unkind to absent thyself from us for so long."

"Duty, my Lord," Jasper replied in a subdued voice. "Come, Carina," the baron told his wife, "greet our friend."

The Baroness Carina was much younger than her husband. Her hair was a rich pink and fell about her face in curls. She wore a rose-colored gown, and she was beautiful-though, Steven thought, not more so than any of a half dozen others he had seen at the Flaxen court.

"Dear Jasper," she said, kissing the knight with a brief, chaste embrace, "we have missed thee at I’chir Gaspard."

"And the world is desolate for me that I must be absent from its well loved halls."

 

Sir Ambry had bowed and then discreetly departed, leaving Steven standing awkwardly near the door.

"And who is this likely-appearing lad who accompanies thee, my son?" the baron asked.

"A Delmarvian boy," Jasper responded. "His name is Steven. He and diverse others have joined with me in a perilous quest."

"Joyfully I greet my son's companion," the baron declared.

Steven bowed, but his mind raced, attempting to find some legitimate excuse to leave. The situation was terribly embarrassing, and he did not want to stay.

"I must wait upon the king," the baron announced. "Custom and courtesy demand that I present myself to him as soon as possible upon my arrival at his court. Wilt thou, Jasper, remain here with my baroness until I return?"

"I will, my Lord."

"I'll take you to where the king is meeting with my aunt and my grandfather, sir," Steven offered quickly.

"Nay, lad," the baron demurred. "Thou too must remain. Though I have no cause for anxiety, knowing full well the fidelity of my wife and my dearest friend, idle tongues would make scandal were they left together unattended. Prudent folk leave no possible foundation for false rumor and vile innuendo."

"I'll stay then, sir," Steven replied quickly.

"Good lad," the baron approved. Then, with eyes that seemed somehow haunted, he quietly left the room.

"Wilt thou sit, my Lady?" Jasper asked Carina, pointing to a sculptured bench near a window.

"I will," she said. "Our journey was fatiguing."

"It is a long way from I’chir Gaspard," Jasper agreed, sitting on another bench. "Didst thou and my Lord find the roads passable?"

"Perhaps not yet so dry as to make travel enjoyable," she told him. They spoke at some length about roads and weather, sitting not far from each other, but not so close that anyone chancing to pass by the open door could have mistaken their conversation for anything less than innocent. 

Their eyes, however, spoke more intimately. Steven, painfully embarrassed, stood looking out a window, carefully choosing one that kept him in full view of the door.

As the conversation progressed, there were increasingly long pauses, and Steven cringed inwardly at each agonizing silence, afraid that either Jasper or the Lady Carina might in the extremity of their hopeless love cross that unspoken boundary and blurt the one word, phrase, or sentence which would cause restraint and honor to crumble and turn their lives into disaster. And yet a certain part of his mind wished that the word or phrase or sentence might be spoken and that their love could flame, however briefly.

 

In that quiet sunlit chamber, that Steven passed a small crossroad. The prejudice against Jasper that Lars’s unthinking partisanship had instilled in him finally shattered and fell away. 

He felt a surge of feelings - not pity, for they would not have accepted pity, but compassion rather. 

More than that, there was the faint beginning of an understanding of the honor and towering pride which, though utterly selfless, was the foundation of that tragedy which had existed in Flaxia for uncounted centuries.

For perhaps a half hour more Jasper and the Lady Carina sat, speaking hardly at all now, their eyes lost in each other's faces while Steven, near to tears, stood his enforced watch over them. 

 

And then Bismuth came to tell them that Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf were getting ready to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want Jasper redemption to be a thing sighpie. Jasper's a complicated character in my opinion and even though it would be extremely easy to write her into the villain persona, it doesn't do her or this story justice to treat her that way. 
> 
> This story deserves more than that. And so I choose to convey the duality of her personality in these little moments, so as to show you that while people can be quite despicable, they can't really be all bad as long as someone loves them like so. 
> 
> This chapter marks the end of the Flaxen tale. Next we shall move into the realms of Shwar. Get ready for some more world-building :)


	13. Of Politics And Parlor Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship enter Shwar without incident, at least, no incident that can't be quickly fixed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is more of a bridge than anything else, serving to acquaint you guys with the political climate of Shwar and how different it is from Flaxenite rule.

**A BRASSY CHORUS OF HORNS** saluted them from the battlements of I’chir Gelar as they rode out of the city accompanied by twoscore armored knights and by King Lavirintos himself. Steven glanced back once and thought he saw the Lady Carina standing upon the wall above the arched gate, though he could not be sure. The lady did not wave, and Jasper did not look back. Steven, however, very nearly held his breath until I’chir Gelar was out of sight.

 

It was midafternoon by the time they reached the ford which crossed the River Flax into Shwar, and the bright sun sparkled on the river. 

The sky was very blue overhead, and the colored pennons on the lances of the escorting knights snapped in the breeze. Steven felt a desperate urgency, an almost unbearable necessity to cross the river and to leave Flaxia and the terrible things that had happened there behind.

 

"Hail and farewell, Holy Gregarion," Lavirintos said at the water's edge. "I will, as thou hast advised me, begin my preparations. When the time comes, Flaxia will be ready. I pledge my life to it."

"And I'll keep you advised of our progress from time to time," Mister Wolf said.

"I will also examine the activities of the Isyaki within my kingdom," Lavirintos said. "If what thou hast told me should prove true, as I doubt not that it shall, then I will expel them from Flaxia. I will seek them out, one and all, and harry them out of the land. I will make their lives a burden and an affliction to them for sowing discord and contention among my subjects."

Wolf grinned at him. "That's an idea that appeals to me. Isyaki are an arrogant people, and a little affliction now and then teaches them humility." He reached out and took the king's hand. "Good-bye, Levi. I hope the world's happier next time we meet."

"I will pray that it may be so," the young king said.

 

Then Mister Wolf led the way down into the rippling water of the shallow ford. Beyond the river Imperial Shwar waited, and from the banks behind them the Gelarian knights saluted with a great fanfare on their horns.

As they emerged on the far side of the river, Steven looked around, trying to see some difference in terrain or foliage which might distinguish Flaxia from Shwar, but there seemed to be none. The land, indifferent to human boundaries, flowed on unchanged.

About a half mile from the river they entered the forest of Mordue, an extensive tract of well-kept woodland which extended from the sea to the foothills of the mountains to the east. Once they were under the trees, they stopped and changed back into their traveling clothes.

 

"I think we might as well keep the guise of merchants," Mister Wolf said, settling with obvious comfort back into his patched rust-colored tunic and mismatched shoes. "It won't fool the Mareks, of course, but it will satisfy the Shwareans we meet along the way. We can deal with the Marikeen in other ways."

"Any sign of the Ward yet, Greg?" Amethyst asked as she stowed her puma-skin cloak and helmet in one of the packs.

"A hint or two," Wolf said, looking around. "I'd guess that Andy went through here a few weeks ago."

"We don't seem to be gaining on him by much," V said, pulling on her leather vest.

"We're holding our own at least. Shall we go?"

 

They remounted and continued along the Shwarean highway, which ran straight through the forest in the afternoon sun. After a league or so, they came to a wide place in the road where a single whitewashed stone building, low and red-roofed, stood solidly at the roadside. 

Several soldiers lounged indolently about, but their armor and equipment seemed less well-cared-for than that of the legionnaires Steven had seen before.

"Customs station," V said. "Shwareans like to put them far enough from the border so that they don't interfere with legitimate smuggling."

"Those are very slovenly legionnaires," Bismuth said disapprovingly.

"They aren't legionnaires," V explained. "They're soldiers of the customs service-local troops. There's a great difference."

"I can see that," Bismuth said, sniffing disdainfully.

 

A soldier wearing a rusty breastplate and carrying a short spear stepped into the road and held up his hand. 

"Customs inspection," he announced in a bored tone. "His Excellency will be with you in a moment or two. You can take your horses over there." He pointed to a kind of yard at the side of the building.

"Is trouble likely?" Jasper asked. The knight had removed his armor and now wore the mail suit and surcoat in which he customarily traveled.

"No," V shook her head. "The customs agent will ask a few questions, and then we'll bribe him and be on our way."

"Bribe?" Bismuth asked.

V shrugged. "Of course. That's the way things are in Shwar. Better let me do the talking. I've been through all this before."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

The customs agent, a stout, balding man in a belted gown of a rusty brown color, came out of the stone building, brushing crumbs from the front of his clothes. 

"Good afternoon," he said in a businesslike manner.

"Good day, your Excellency," V replied with a brief curtsy.

"And what have we here?" the agent asked, looking appraisingly at the packs.

"I'm Anna of Wal’kofte," V replied, "a Q’zarnian merchant. I'm taking Delmarvian wool to Tol Maheshwar." He opened the top of one of the packs and pulled out a corner of woven gray cloth.

"Your prospects are good, worthy merchant," the customs agent said, fingering the cloth. "It's been a chilly winter this year, and wool's bringing a good price."

There was a brief clicking sound as several coins changed hands. The customs agent smiled then, and his manner grew more relaxed. 

"I don't think we'll need to open all the packs," he said. "I wouldn’t want to delay an honest merchant of a day’s trading, worthy Anna, especially one as lovely as you."

V curtsied again, making a show of blushing. 

"Is there anything I should know about the road ahead, your Excellency?" she asked, tying up the pack again. "I've learned to rely on the advice of the customs service."

"The road's good," the agent said with a shrug. "The legions see to that."

"Of course. Any unusual conditions anywhere?"

"It might be wise if you kept somewhat to yourselves on your way south," the stout man advised. "There's a certain amount of political turmoil in Shwar just now. I'm sure, though, that if you show that you're tending strictly to business, you won't be bothered."

"Turmoil?" V asked, sounding a bit concerned. "I hadn't heard about that."

"It's the succession. Things are a bit stirred up at the moment."

"Is Raja Maheshwaran ill?" V asked with surprise.

"No," the stout man said, "only old. It's a disease no one recovers from. Since he doesn't have a son to succeed him, the Maheshwaran Dynasty hangs on his feeblest breath. The great families are already maneuvering for position. It's all terribly expensive of course, and we Shwareans get agitated when there's money involved."

V laughed briefly. "Don't we all? Perhaps it might be to my advantage to make a few contacts in the right quarters. Which family would you guess is in the best position at the moment?"

"I think we have the edge over the rest of them," the agent said rather smugly.

"We-"

"The Tjinderians. I'm distantly related on my mother's side to the family. The Grand Duke Baljeet of Tol Tjinder the only logical choice for the throne."

"I don't believe I know him," V said.

"An excellent man," the agent said expansively. "A man of force and vigor and foresight. If the selection were based on simple merit, Grand Duke Baljeet would be given the throne by general consent. Unfortunately, though, the selection's in the hands of the Council of Advisers."

"Ah!"

"Indeed," the agent agreed bitterly. "You wouldn't believe the size of the bribes some of those men are asking for their votes, worthy Anna."

"It's an opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime, I suppose," V said.

"I don't begrudge any man the right to a decent, reasonable bribe," the stout agent complained, "but some of the men on the council have gone mad with greed. No matter what position I get in the new government, it's going to take me years to recoup what I've already been obliged to contribute. It's the same all over Shwar. Decent men are being driven to the wall by taxes and all these emergency subscriptions. You don't dare let a list go by that doesn't have your name on it, and there's a new list out every day. The expense is making everyone desperate. They're killing each other in the streets of Tol Maheshwar."

"That bad?" V asked, a hint of skepticism entering her voice.

"Worse than you can imagine," the customs man said. "The Morganites don't have the kind of money it takes to conduct a political campaign, so they've started to poison off council members. We spend millions to buy a vote, and the next day our man turns black in the face and falls over dead. Then we have to raise more millions to buy up his successor. They're absolutely destroying me. I don't have the right kind of nerves for politics."

"Terrible," V sympathized.

"If Doug Maheshwaran would only die," the Shwarean complained desperately. "We're in control now, but the Maheshwarans are richer than we are. If they unite behind one candidate, they'll be able to buy the throne right out from under us. And all the while Doug sits in the palace doting on that little  **_monster_ ** he calls a daughter and with so many guards around that we can't persuade even the bravest assassin to make an attempt on him. Sometimes I think he intends to live forever."

"Patience, Excellency," V advised. "The more we suffer, the greater the rewards in the end."

The Shwarean sighed. "I'll be very rich someday then. But I've kept you long enough, worthy Anna. I wish you good speed and cold weather in Tol Maheshwar to bring up the price of your wool."

 

V curtsied formally, remounted her horse and led the party at a trot away from the customs station. 

"It's so good to be back in Shwar again," said little woman whilst stretching in her saddle. "I love the smell of deceit, corruption, and intrigue."

"You're a riot, V," Amethyst said. "This place is a cesspool."

"Of course it is." V laughed. "But it isn't dull, Amy. Shwar’s never dull."

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

They approached a tidy Shwarean village as evening fell and stopped for the night in a solid, well-kept inn where the food was good and the beds were clean. They were up early the next morning; after breakfast they clattered out of the innyard and onto the cobblestoned street in that curious silver light that comes just before the sun rises.

 

"Well this seems like a proper place," Bismuth said approvingly, looking around at the white stone houses with their red-tiled roofs. "Everything seems neat and orderly."

"It's a reflection of the Shwarean mind," Mister Wolf explained. "They pay great attention to details."

"That's not a bad trait," Bismuth observed.

 

Wolf was about to answer that when two brown-robed men ran out of a shadowy side street.

"Look out!" the one in the rear yelled. "He's gone mad!"

 

The man running in front was clutching at his head, his face contorted into an expression of unspeakable horror. 

Steven's horse shied violently as the madman ran directly at him, and Steven raised his right hand to try to push the bulging-eyed lunatic away. 

At the instant his hand touched the man's forehead, he felt a surge in his hand and arm, a kind of tingling as if the arm were suddenly enormously strong, and his mind filled with a vast roaring. 

The madman's eyes went blank, and he collapsed on the cobblestones as if Steven's touch had been some colossal blow.

Then Amethyst nudged his horse between Steven and the fallen man.

 

"Okay, buster, what's the big idea?" she demanded of the second robed man who ran up, gasping for breath.

"We're from La Zellan," the man answered breathlessly. "Brother Odie couldn't stand the ghosts anymore, so I was given permission to bring him home until his sanity returned." He knelt over the fallen man. "You didn't have to hit him so hard," he accused.

"I didn't," Steven protested. "I only touched him. I think he fainted."

"You must have hit him," the monk said. "Look at the mark on his face."

An ugly red welt stood on the unconscious man's forehead.

"Steven," Aunt Pearl said, "can you do exactly what I tell you to do without asking any questions?"

Steven nodded. "I think so."

"Get down off your horse. Go to the man on the ground and put the palm of your hand on his forehead. Then apologize to him for knocking him down."

"Are you sure it's safe, Pearl?" Amethyst asked.

"Perfectly so, Amethyst. Do as I told you, Steven."

 

Steven hesitantly approached the stricken man, reached out, and laid his palm on the ugly welt. 

 

"I'm sorry," he said, "and I hope you get well soon." 

 

There was a surge in his arm again, but quite different from the first one.

The madman's eyes cleared, and he blinked.

 

"Where am I?" he asked. "What happened?" His voice sounded very normal, and the welt on his forehead was gone.

"It's all right now," Steven told him, not knowing exactly why he said it. "You've been sick, but you're better now."

"Come along, Steven," Aunt Pearl said. "His friend can care for him now."

Steven went back to his horse, his thoughts churning.

"A miracle!" the second monk exclaimed.

"Hardly that," Aunt Pearl said. "The blow restored your friend's mind, that's all. It happens sometimes." 

 

But she and Mister Wolf exchanged a long glance that said quite plainly that something else had happened, something unexpected.

They rode on, leaving the two monks in the middle of the street.

 

"What happened there?" Bismuth asked, a stunned look on his face.

Mister Wolf shrugged. "Pearl had to use Steven," he said. "There wasn't time to do it any other way."

Bismuth looked unconvinced.

"We don't do it often," Wolf explained. "It's a little cumbersome to go through someone else like that, but sometimes we don't have any choice."

"But Steven healed him," Bismuth objected.

"It has to come from the same hand as the blow, Bismuth," Aunt Pearl said. "Please don't ask so many questions."

The dry awareness in Steven's mind, however, refused to accept any of their explanations. 

It told him that nothing had come from outside. 

With a troubled face he studied the silvery mark on his palm. It seemed different for some reason.

 

"Don't think about it, dear," Aunt Pearl said quietly as they left the village and rode south along the highway. "It's nothing to worry about. I'll explain it all later." 

 

Then, to the caroling of birds that greeted the rising sun, she reached across and firmly closed his hand with her fingers, a silent assurance that all would indeed be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steven's first use of the Diamond Speech, oh they grow up so fast :')


	14. Shwar-thern Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grass is greener on the other side. Right up until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever heard of Machiavelli? Splendid fellow that one.

**IT TOOK THEM THREE DAYS** to pass through the forest of Mordue. 

Steven, remembering the dangers of the Flaxian forest, was apprehensive at first and watched the shadows beneath the trees nervously, but after a day or so with nothing out of the ordinary occurring, he began to relax. 

Mister Wolf, however, seemed to grow increasingly irritable as they rode south. 

 

"They're planning something," he muttered. "I wish they'd get on with it. I hate to ride with one eye over my shoulder every step of the way."

 

Steven had little opportunity along the way to speak with Aunt Pearl about what had happened to the crazy monk from La Zellan. 

It seemed almost as if she were deliberately avoiding him; when he finally did manage to ride briefly beside her and question her about the incident, her answers were vague and did little to quiet his unease about the whole affair.

 

It was the middle of the morning on the third day when they emerged from the trees and rode out into open farmland. 

Unlike the Flaxian plains where vast tracts of land seemed to lie fallow, the ground here was extensively cultivated, and low stone walls surrounded each field. 

Although it was still far from being warm, the sun was very bright, and the well-turned earth in the fields seemed rich and black as it lay waiting for sowing. The highway was broad and straight, and they encountered frequent travelers along the way. 

Greetings between the party and these travelers were restrained but polite, and Steven began to feel more at ease. This country appeared to be much too civilized for the kind of dangers they had encountered in Flaxia.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

About midafternoon they rode into a sizable town where merchants in variously colored mantles called to them from booths and stalls which lined the streets, imploring them to stop and look at merchandise.

"They sound almost desperate," Bismuth said.

"Shwareans hate to see a customer get away," V told him. "They're greedy."

 

Ahead, in a small square, a disturbance suddenly broke out. A half dozen slovenly, unshaven soldiers had accosted an arrogant-looking man in a green mantle.

"Stand aside, I say," the arrogant man protested sharply.

"We just want a word or two with you, Lankor," one of the soldiers said with an evil-looking leer. He was a lean man with a long scar down one side of his face.

"What an idiot," a passer-by observed with a callous laugh. "Lenkor’s gotten so important that he doesn't think he has to take any precautions."

"Is he being arrested, friend?" Bismuth inquired politely.

"Only temporarily," the passer-by said dryly.

"What are they going to do to him?" Bismuth asked.

"The usual."

"What's the usual?"

"Watch and see. The fool should have known better than to come out without his bodyguards."

The soldiers had surrounded the man in the green mantle, and two of them took hold of his arms roughly.

"Let me go," Lenkor protested. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Just come along quietly, Lenkor," the scar-faced soldier ordered. "It will be a lot easier that way." They began pulling him toward a narrow alleyway.

"Help!" Lenkor shouted, his voice more frantic now as he desperately tried to struggle.

One of the soldiers smashed the captive in the mouth with his fist, and they pulled him into the alley. There was a single, short scream and the sounds of a brief scuffle. There were other sounds as well, a few grunts and the repeated grating sound of steel on bone, then a long, sighing moan. 

A wide rivulet of bright blood trickled out of the mouth of the alley and ran into the gutter. A minute or so later, the soldiers came back out into the square, grinning and wiping their swords.

"We've got to do something," Steven said horrified, sick with outrage and horror.

"No," Vidalia said bluntly. "What we have to do is mind our own business. We're not here to get involved in local politics."

"Politics?" Steven gasped incredulously. "That was deliberate murder. Shouldn't we at least see if he's still alive?"

"And be pegged as their murderers too?" Amethyst scoffed. "Not gonna happen, shorty."

 

A dozen other soldiers, as shabby-looking as the first group, ran into the square with drawn swords.

"Too late, Abbas." The scar-faced soldier laughed harshly to the leader of the newcomers. "Lenkor doesn't need you anymore. He just came down with a bad case of dead. It looks like you're out of work."

The one called Abbas stopped, his expression dark. Then a look of brutal cunning spread across his face. "Maybe you're right, Kegger." His voice was also harsh. "But then again we might be able to create a few vacancies in Elkin's garrison. I'm sure he'd be happy to hire good replacements." 

He began to move forward again, his short sword swinging in a low, dangerous arc.

 

Then there came the sound of a jingling trot, and twenty legionnaires in a double column came into the square, their feet striking the cobblestones in unison. They carried short lances, and they stopped between the two groups of soldiers. Each column turned to face one group, their lances leveled. The breastplates of the legionnaires were brightly burnished, and their equipment was spotless.

"All right, Abbas, Kegger, that's enough," the sergeant in charge said sharply. "I want both of you off the street immediately."

"But these bastards killed Lenkor, Sergeant," Abbas protested.

"Really? What a shame," the sergeant said, yawning.  "Now clear the street. There's not going to be any brawling while I'm on duty."

"Aren't you going to do something about this?" Abbas demanded.

"I am," the legionnaire said. "I'm clearing the street. Now get out of here."

Sullenly, Abbas turned and led his men out of the square.

"That goes for you too, Kegger," the sergeant ordered.

"Of course, Sergeant," Kegger said with an oily smirk. "We were just leaving anyway."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A crowd had gathered, and there were several boos as the legionnaires herded the sloppy-looking soldiers out of the square.

The sergeant looked around, his face dangerous, and the boos died immediately.

Bismuth hissed sharply. 

"Over there on the far side of the square," he said to Wolf in a hoarse whisper. "Isn't that Myr?"

" **_Again?_ ** " Wolf's voice held exasperation. "How does he keep getting ahead of us like this?"

"Let's find out what he's up to," V suggested, her eyes bright.

"He'd recognize any of us if we tried to follow him," Amethyst warned.

"Leave that to me," V said, sliding out of her saddle.

"Did he see us?" Steven asked.

"I don't think so," Bismuth said. "He's talking to those men over there. He isn't looking this way."

"There's an inn near the south end of town," V said quickly, pulling off her vest and tying it to her saddle. "I'll meet you there in an hour or so." Then the little woman turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"Get down off your horses," Mister Wolf ordered tersely. "We'll lead them."

 

They all dismounted and led their mounts slowly around the edge of the square, staying close to the buildings and keeping the animals between them and Myr as much as possible.

Steven glanced once up the narrow alleyway where Kegger and his men had dragged the protesting Lenkor. He shuddered and looked away quickly. 

A green-mantled heap lay in a grimy corner, and there was blood and viscera splashed thickly on the walls and on the filthy cobblestones in the alley.

After they had moved out of the square, they found the entire town seething with excitement and in some cases consternation. 

"Lenkor, you say?" an ashen-faced merchant in a blue mantle exclaimed to another shaken man. "Impossible."

"My brother just talked to a man who was there," the second merchant said. "Forty of Elkin's soldiers attacked him in the street and cut him down right in front of the crowd."

"What's going to happen to us?" the first man asked in a shaking voice.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to hide. Now that Lenkor's dead, Elkin's soldiers are probably going to try to kill us all."

"They wouldn't dare."

"Who's going to stop them? I'm going home."

"Why did we listen to Lenkor?" the first merchant wailed. "We could have stayed out of the whole business."

"It's too late now," the second man said. "I'm going to go home and bar my doors." He turned and scurried away.

The first man stared after him and then he too turned and fled.

"They play for keeps, don't they?" Amethyst observed.

"Why don’t the legions  **_do_ ** something about this?" Jasper asked.

"The legions stay neutral in these affairs," Wolf said. "It's part of their oath."

 

\-------------------

 

The inn to which V had directed them was a neat, square building surrounded by a low wall. They tied their horses in the courtyard and went inside. 

"We might as well eat, Greg," Aunt Pearl said, seating herself at a table of well-scrubbed oak in the sunny common room.

"I was just- " Wolf looked toward the door which led into the taproom.

"I know," she said, "but I think we should eat first."

Wolf’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed. "All right, Pearl."

 

The serving-man brought them a platter of smoking cutlets and heavy slabs of brown bread soaked in butter. Steven’s stomach was still a bit shaky after what he had witnessed in the square, but the smell of the cutlets, actually fresh and crisp for once, soon overcame that. 

They had nearly finished eating when a shabby-looking little man in a linen shirt, leather apron and a ragged hat came in and plunked himself unceremoniously at the end of their table. His face looked vaguely familiar somehow. 

"Wine!" he bawled at the serving-man, "and food." He squinted around in the golden light streaming through the yellow glass windows of the common room.

"Hey there,  **_friend_ ** . Does this look like an empty table to you?" Jasper said coldly.

"I like this one," the stranger said, nonchalantly. 

He peered at each of them in turn, and then he suddenly laughed. Steven stared in amazement as the man's face relaxed, the muscles seeming to shift under his skin-- no,  **_her_ ** skin, for the face looked much more feminine now, back into their normal positions. It was V.

"Wh-wha-what in the--" Amethyst stammered in obvious apoplexy. “Did you just  **_shapeshift_ ** ?”

V grinned at him and then reached up to massage her cheeks with her fingertips. "No, Amy. That was just concentration. Concentration and lots of practice. It makes my jaws ache a bit, though."

"Useful skill, I'd imagine - under the right circumstances," Ruby said blandly.

"Particularly for a spy," Amethyst said.

V bowed mockingly.

"Where did you get the clothes?" Bismuth asked,

"Stole them." V shrugged, peeling off the apron.

"What's Myr doing here?" Wolf asked.

"Stirring up trouble, the same as always," V replied. "He's telling people that an Isyaki named Rohk is offering a reward for any information about us. He describes you quite well, old friend - not very flatteringly, but quite well."

"I expect we'll have to deal with this Rohk-Nal-Do before long," Aunt Pearl said. "He's beginning to irritate me."

"There's another thing." V started on one of the cutlets. "Myr’s telling everyone that Steven is Rohk’s son - that we've stolen him and that Rohk’s offering a huge reward for his return."

"Steven? Our Steven?" Aunt Pearl asked sharply.

V nodded. "The kind of money he's talking about is bound to make everyone in Shwar keep his eyes open." She reached for a piece of bread.

Steven felt a sharp pang of anxiety.

"Why me?" he asked.

"It would delay us," Wolf said. "Rohk - whoever he is - knows that Polina would stop to look for you. So would the rest of us, most likely. That would give Andy time to get away."

"Just who is this, Rohk?" Ruby asked, her eyes narrowing.

"A Marek, I expect," Wolf said. "His operations are a little too widespread for him to be an ordinary Isyaki."

"How can one tell the difference?" Bismuth asked.

"You can't," Wolf answered. "They look very much the same. They're two separate tribes, but they're much more closely related to each other than they are to other Alabastians. Anyone can tell the difference between an Indratu and a Drakan or a Drakan and a Noxian, but Isyakis and Mareks are so much alike that you can't tell them apart."

"I've never had any problem," Aunt Pearl said flatly. "Their minds are quite different."

"Ohhh, that’s a great idea, P." Amethyst commented dryly. "We'll just chop open the head of the next Isyaki we meet, and you can point out the differences to us."

"You've been spending too much time with Ruby lately," Aunt Pearl said acidly. "You're starting to talk like her."

Amethyst looked over at Ruby and winked. Ruby gave her a singular thumbs-up in response.

"Let's finish up here and see if we can't get out of town quietly," Wolf said. "Is there a back alley out of this place?" he asked V.

"Naturally," V said, still eating.

"Are you familiar with it?"

V stared at him for a minute, then laughed that merry, familiar laugh she always did. “ **_Please._ ** ”

Wolf simply rolled his eyes.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The alleyway V led them through was narrow, deserted, and smelled quite bad, but it brought them to the town's south gate, and they were soon on the highway again.

 

"A little distance wouldn't hurt at this point," Wolf said. 

 

He thumped his heels to his horse's flanks and started off at a gallop. They rode until well after dark. The moon, looking swollen and unhealthy, rose slowly above the horizon and filled the night with a pale light that seemed to leech away all trace of color. Wolf finally pulled to a stop. 

"There's really no point in riding all night," he said. "Let's move off the road and get a few hours' sleep. We'll start out again early. I'd like to stay ahead of Myr this time if we can."

"Over there?" Bismuth suggested, pointing at a small copse of trees looming black in the moonlight not far from the road.

"It will do," Wolf decided. "I don't think we'll need a fire." 

 

They led the horses in among the trees and pulled their blankets out of the packs. The moonlight filtered in among the trees and dappled the leaf strewn ground. 

Steven found a fairly level place with his feet, rolled up in his blankets and, after squirming around a bit, he fell asleep.

 

He awoke suddenly, his eyes dazzled by the light of a half dozen torches. A heavy foot was pushed down on his chest, and the point of a sword was set firmly, uncomfortably against his throat.

"Nobody move!" a harsh voice ordered. "We'll kill anybody who moves."

Steven stiffened in panic, and the sword point at his throat dug in sharply. He rolled his head from side to side and saw that all of his friends were being held down in the same way he was. Bismuth, who had been standing guard, was struggling to be restrained by two rough-looking soldiers, and a piece of rag was stuffed in his mouth.

" **_What do you think you’re doing?_ ** " V demanded of the soldiers.

"You'll find out," the one in charge rasped. "Get their weapons." As he gestured, Steven saw that a finger was missing from his right hand.

"There's obviously a mistake here," V said. "I'm Anna of Wal’kofte, a merchant, and my friends and I haven't done anything wrong."

"Get on your feet," the three-fingered soldier ordered, ignoring the little woman's objections. "If any one of you tries to get away, we'll kill all the rest."

V rose and smoothed her hair under her hat. "You're going to regret this, Captain," she warned. "I've got powerful friends here in Shwar."

The soldier shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything to me," he said. "I take my orders from Count Davros. He told me to bring you in."

"All right," V said. "Let's go see this Count Davros, then. We'll get this cleared up right now, and there's no need to wave your stupid swords about like idiots. We'll come along quietly. None of us is going to do anything to get you excited."

The three-fingered soldier's face darkened in the torchlight. "I don't like your tone, merchant."

"You're not being  **_paid_ ** to like my tone,  **_friend_ ** ," V shot back in a voice dripping with venom. "You're being paid to escort us to Count Davros. Now suppose we get moving. The quicker we get there, the quicker I can give him a full report about your behaviour."

 

"Get. Their. Horses," the soldier growled lowly.

 

Steven had edged over to Aunt Pearl.

"Can't you do anything?" he asked her quietly.

"No talking!" the soldier who had captured him barked.

Steven stood helplessly, staring at the sword leveled at his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever been asked if money is the root of all evil?
> 
> I don't personally think so, but who am I to judge? I'm sure anyone would drag me out into the nearest back alley and commit casual murder for the right price.


	15. An Olive on Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third party amongst third parties enters the fray, as they did all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no shortage of intrigue. Of that, I can guarantee.

**THE HOUSE OF COUNT DAVROS** was a large white building set in the center of a broad lawn with clipped hedges and formal gardens on either side. The moon, fully overhead now, illuminated every detail as they rode slowly up a white-graveled, curving road that led to the house.

 

The soldiers ordered them to dismount in the courtyard between the house and the garden on the west side of the house, and they were hustled inside and down a long hallway to a heavy, polished door.

 

Count Davros was a thin, vague-looking man with deep pouches under his eyes, and he sprawled in a chair in the center of a richly furnished room. He looked up with a pleasant, almost dreamy smile on his face as they entered. His mantle was a pale vermillion color with silver trim at the hem and around the sleeves to indicate his rank. It was badly wrinkled and none too clean. 

 

"And who are these guests?" he asked, his voice slurred and barely audible.

"The prisoners, my Lord," the three-fingered soldier explained. "The ones  **_you ordered arrested._ ** "

"Did I order someone arrested?" the count asked, his voice still slurred. "What a remarkable thing for me to do. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, my friends."

"We were a bit surprised, that's all," V said carefully, her words measured.

Something was definitely amiss here.

"I wonder why I did that." The count pondered. "I must have had a reason - I never do anything without a reason. What have you done wrong?"

"We haven't done anything wrong, my Lord, I assure you," said V placatingly.

"Then why would I have you arrested? There must be some sort of mistake."

"That's what we thought, my Lord," V said.

"Well, I'm glad that's all cleared up," the count said happily. "May I offer you some dinner, perhaps?"

"We've already eaten, my Lord."

"Oh." The count's face fell with disappointment. "I have so few visitors."

"Perhaps your steward Tourmaline may remember the reason these people were detained, my Lord," the three-fingered soldier suggested.

"Of course," the count said. "Why didn't I think of that? Tourmaline remembers everything. Please send for her at once."

"Yes, my Lord." The soldier bowed and jerked his head curtly at one of his men.

 

\---------------------------

 

Count Davros dreamily began playing with one of the folds of his mantle, humming tunelessly as they waited.

After a few moments a door at the end of the room opened, and a woman in an iridescent and intricately embroidered green robe entered. Her face radiated a dangerous sensuousness, and her head was shaved. Her skin was a verdant green, and at her appearance, all in attendance elicited a variety of reactions. Ruby and Amethyst’s eyes widened in recognition of another gem. Mister Wolf’s eyes narrowed. Everyone else was bewildered, unsure what to make of this mysterious new arrival. Everyone that is, except for Aunt Pearl. In her azure, sky-blue eyes radiated a malice Steven had only seen very few times before. 

"You sent for me, my Lord?" Her honeyed, melodic voice came out almost as a hiss.

"Ah, Tou," Count Davros said happily, "how good of you to join us."

"It's my pleasure to serve you, my Lord," the stewardess said, bowing so low that her head almost brushed against the table. Steven caught sight of something gleaming in the candlelight on the back of her head.

"I was wondering why I asked these friends to stop by," the count said. "I seem to have forgotten. Do you by any chance recall?"

"It's just a small matter, my Lord," Tourmaline answered. "I can easily handle it for you. You need your rest. You mustn't overtire yourself, you know."

The count passed a hand across his face. "Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit fatigued, Tou. Perhaps you could entertain our guests while I rest a bit."

"Of course, my Lord," Tourmaline said with another bow.

The count shifted around in his chair and almost immediately fell asleep.

"The count is in delicate health," Tourmaline said with an oily smile. "He seldom leaves that chair these days. Let's move away a bit so that we don't disturb him."

"I'm only a Q’zarnian merchant, your Eminence," V said, "and these are my servants - except for my sister there. We're baffled by all of this."

Tou laughed. "Why do you persist in this absurd fiction, Princess Vidalia? I know who you are. I know you all, and I know your mission."

"What's your interest in us, Olivian?" Mister Wolf asked bluntly.

"I serve my mistress, the Lustrous Olive Green Agate," Tourmaline said.

"Has the Snake Woman become the pawn of the Marikeen, then?" Aunt Pearl asked acidly, "or does she bow to the will of Andarion?"

"My queen bows to no man  **_or_ ** gem, Polina," Tou denied scornfully.

"Really?" She raised one eyebrow. "It's curious to find her servant dancing to a Marek tune."

"I have no dealings with the Mareks," Tourmaline said. "They're scouring all Shwar for you, but I'm the one who found you."

"Finding isn't keeping, Tourmaline," Mister Wolf stated quietly. "Suppose you tell us what this is all about."

"I'll tell you only what I feel like telling you, Gregarion."

"I think that's about enough, father," Aunt Pearl said. "We really don't have time for Olivine riddle games, do we?"

"Don't do it, Pearl," Tou warned, her uncomfortably reptilian tongue flicking out for a second. "I know all about your power. My soldiers will kill your friends if you so much as raise your hand." 

Steven felt himself roughly grabbed from behind, and a sword blade was pressed firmly against his throat.

Aunt Pearl's eyes blazed suddenly. "Tread lightly,  **_snake_ ** . Or I will show you what power  **_really_ ** is."

"I don't think we need to exchange threats," Mister Wolf said. "I gather, then, that you don't intend to turn us over to the Mareks?"

"I'm not interested in the Mareks," Tou said. "My queen has instructed me to deliver you to her in Echelon."

"What's Olive Green Agate’s interest in this matter?" Wolf asked. "It doesn't concern her."

"I'll let her explain that to you when you get to Echelon. In the meantime, there are a few things I'll require you to tell me."

"Good luck with that," Jasper growled stiffIy. "I think you’ll find that we don’t discuss private matters with strangers, least of all poisonous little shits like you."

"And I think you're wrong, my dear Baron," Tou replied with a cold smile. "The cellars of this house are deep, and what happens there can be most unpleasant. I have servants highly skilled in applying certain exquisitely persuasive torments."

"I can take all you have to give and more, runt," Jasper said contemptuously. “I fear you not.”

"No. I don't imagine you do. Fear requires imagination, and you Flaxen aren't bright enough to be imaginative. The torments, however, will wear down your will - and provide entertainment for my servants. Good torturers are hard to find, and they grow sullen if they aren't allowed to practice - I'm sure you understand. Later, after you've all had the chance to visit with them a time or two, we'll try something else. Olivia abounds with roots and leaves and curious little berries with strange properties. Oddly enough, most men prefer the rack or the wheel to my little concoctions." Tourmaline laughed then, a brutal, empty sound with no mirth in it. "We'll discuss all this further after I have the count settled in for the night. For right now, the guards will take you downstairs to the places I've prepared for you all."

Count Davros roused himself and looked around dreamily. "Are our friends departing so soon?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord," Tourmaline told him.

"Well then," the count said with a vague, almost vacant smile, "farewell, dear people. I hope you'll return someday so that we can continue our delightful conversation."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The cell to which Steven was taken was dank and clammy, and it smelled of sewage and rotting food. Worst of all was the darkness, inky and impenetrable. He huddled beside the iron door with the blackness pressing in on him palpably. 

From one corner of the cell came little scratchings and skittering sounds. He thought of rats and tried to stay as near to the door as possible. Water trickled somewhere, and his throat began to burn with thirst.

It was dark, but it was not silent. Chains clinked in a nearby cell, and someone was groaning. 

Further off, there was insane laughter, a meaningless cackle repeated over and over again without pause, endlessly rattling in the dark. 

Someone screamed, a piercing, shocking sound, and then again. Steven cringed back against the slimy stones of the wall, his imagination immediately manufacturing tortures to account for the agony in those pained screams.

In such a dreadful place, the passage of time was non-existent, and so there was no way to know how long he had huddled in his cell, alone and afraid, before he began to hear a faint metallic scraping and clinking that seemed to come from the door itself. He scrambled away, stumbling across the uneven floor of his cell to the far wall.

 

"Go away!" he cried.

"By the Diamonds, Steven, keep your voice down!" V whispered from the far side of the door.

"Is that you, Vidalia?" Steven almost sobbed with relief.

"Who were you expecting?"

"How did you get loose?"

" **_NOT the time_ ** ,  **_Steven,_ ** " V said from between clenched teeth. "Stupid, damned rust!" she swore. Then she grunted, and there was a grating click from the door. 

"There!" she exclaimed. The cell door creaked open, and the dim light from torches somewhere filtered in. "Come along," V whispered. "We have to hurry."

Steven almost ran from the cell. 

Aunt Pearl was leaning non-chalantly against a cobblestone wall a few steps down the gloomy stone corridor. 

Without a word, Steven went to her. She looked at him gravely for a moment and then put her arms about him firmly. He realised how much he missed her warmth in that unspoken moment.

V was already hard at work on another door, her face gleaming with perspiration. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. 

Ruby stepped out. "You’re slipping, V” she said, smirking.

"It’s the fucking rust!" V snapped, her irritation almost comically disproportionate to the issue. "I'd like to flog all the jailers in this place for letting the locks get into this condition."

“Ah,” Ruby began, amused. “Well,  **_excuse_ ** them for not doing a better job of containing us.”

"Hey, banter’s great and all, but do you think we could hurry this up?" Amethyst called over her shoulder from the top of the steps where she stood guard.

"If you can do a better job of this,  **_sausage-fingers_ ** , I’d  **_love_ ** to see it." Vidalia huffed in a half-yell.

" **_Ladies, please,_ ** " Aunt Pearl said. "We don't have the time for bickering right now." She removed her peach cloak over one arm.

Vidalia muttered sourly to herself and moved on to the next door.

"Is all this oratory actually necessary?" Mister Wolf, the last to be released, asked crisply as he stepped out of his cell, rubbing his wrists tenderly. "You've all been babbling like a flock of geese out here."

"Princess Vidalia felt need to make observations about the standard of security in hither dungeon," Jasper said in a light-hearted tone as he crouched out of the doorway to his cell. “Truly disappointing.”

For once in the time they rode together, V scowled openly at him. She led the way toward the end of the corridor where the torches fumed greasy onto the blackened ceiling.

"Dead ahead," Jasper whispered urgently. "There's a guard."

A bearded man in a dirty leather jerkin sat on the floor with his back against the wall of the corridor, snoring.

"Can we get past without waking him up?" Bismuth breathed.

"He’s not gonna wake up for a while." Amethyst said grimly. The large purple swelling on the side of the guard's face immediately explained things.

"D’you think there might be others?" Jasper asked, flexing his hands.

"There were a few," Amethyst admitted. "They're sleeping too."

“Awww-” said Jasper despondently.

"Let's get out of here, then," Wolf suggested.

"We'll take Tou with us, won't we?" Aunt Pol asked.

" **_What?_ ** What for?"

Aunt Pearl cracked her neck as she deliberately cracked each knuckle. “No particular reason,” she said blandly.

"It would be a waste of time," Wolf said. "Holly Agate’s involved herself in this affair. Not that that’s really a surprise, but that’s all we need to know. Her motives don't really interest me all that much. Let's just get out of here as quietly as we can."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They crept past the snoring guard, turned a corner and moved softly down another corridor.

 

"Did he die?" a voice, shockingly loud, asked from behind a barred door that emitted a smoky red light.

"No," another voice said, "only fainted. You pulled too hard on the lever. You have to keep the pressure steady. Otherwise they faint, and you have to start over."

"Ah, shite, this is a lot harder than I thought," the first voice complained.

"You're doing fine," the second voice said. "The rack's always tricky. Just remember to keep a steady pressure and not to jerk the lever. They usually die if you pull their arms out of the sockets."

 

Aunt Pearl’s face went rigid with rage, and her eyes blazed briefly. She made that familiar gesture and whispered something. A brief, hushed sound murmured in Steven’s mind.

"You know," the first voice said rather faintly, "suddenly I don't feel so good."

"Now that you mention it, I don't either," the second voice agreed. "Did that meat we had for supper taste all right to you?"

"It seemed all right." There was a long pause. "I really don't feel good at all."

The hallway was shortly filled with the sounds of retching as the two poor torturers tasted their dinner for the second time that night. 

 

They tiptoed past the barred door, and Steven carefully avoided looking in. At the end of the corridor was a stout oak door bound with iron. 

V ran her fingers around the handle. "It's locked from the outside," she said.

"Someone's coming," Ruby warned.

There was the tramp of heavy feet on the stone stairs beyond the door, the murmur of voices and a harsh laugh.

Wolf turned quickly to the door of a nearby cell. He touched his fingers to the rusty iron lock, and it clicked smoothly. 

"In here," he whispered. They all crowded into the cell, and Wolf pulled the door shut behind them.

"When we've got some leisure, I'll want to talk to you about how you did that," V said.

"You were having such a good time with the locks that I didn't want to interfere." Wolf smiled ruefully. "Now listen. We're going to have to deal with these men before they find out that our cells are empty and rouse the whole house."

"Easy," Amethyst said confidently. They waited.

"They're opening the door," Bismuth whispered.

"How many are there?" Jasper asked.

"I can't tell."

"Eight," Aunt Pearl said firmly.

"All right," Amy decided. "We'll let them pass and then jump on them from behind. A scream or two won't matter much in a place like this, but let's put them down quickly."

 

They waited tensely in the darkness of the cell.

"Tourmaline says it doesn't matter if some of them die under the questioning," one of the men outside said. "The only ones we have to keep alive are the old man, the woman, and the boy."

"Let's kill the big one with the purple whiskers then," other suggested. "He looks like he might be troublesome, and he's probably too stupid to know anything useful."

"Yeah," Amethyst whispered. “That one's  **_mine._ ** ”

The men in the corridor passed their cell.

"Let's go," Amethyst said.

 

\---------------------

 

It was a short, ugly fight. They swarmed over the startled jailers in a savage rush. 

Three were down for the count before the others fully realized what was happening. 

One made a startled outcry, dodged past the fight and ran back toward the stairs. Without thinking, Steven dove in front of the running man. Then he rolled, tangling the man's feet, tripping him up. The guard fell, started to rise, then sagged back down in a limp heap as V neatly kicked him just below the ear.

"Are you all right?" V asked.

Steven squirmed out from under the unconscious jailer and scrambled to his feet, but the fight was nearly over. 

Bismuth was pounding a stout man's head against the wall, and Amethyst was driving her fist into another's face. Jasper was strangling a third, and Ruby stalked a fourth, her hands out. 

The wide-eyed man cried out once just as Ruby’s hands closed on him. The tall gem straightened, spun about and slammed the man into the stone wall with terrific force. There was the grating sound of bones breaking, and the man went limp.

"That was a good little warm-up," Amethyst said, rubbing his knuckles.

"Entertaining," Ruby agreed, letting the limp body slide to the floor.

"Are you all quite finished?" V demanded hoarsely from the door by the stairs.

"Almost," Amethyst said. "Need any help, B-man?"

 

Bismuth lifted the stout man's chin and examined his now vacant eyes critically. 

“Once more, to be safe?” Ruby politely suggested. Bismuth shrugged as he prudently banged the jailer's head against the wall once more then let him fall.

“Can we move along?” said V, exasperation creeping into her voice now. 

"Might as well," Amy agreed, surveying the littered corridor.

"The door's unlocked at the top of the stairs," V said as they joined him, "and the hallway's empty beyond it. The house seems to be asleep, but let's be quiet."

 

\-----------------------------

 

They followed her silently up the stairs. She paused briefly at the door. 

"Wait here a moment," she whispered. Then she disappeared, her feet making absolutely no sound. After what seemed a long time, he returned with the weapons the soldiers had taken from them. 

"I thought we might need these."

Steven felt much better after he had belted on his sword.

"Let's go," V said and led them to the end of the hall and around a corner.

"I think I'd like some of the green, Tou," Count Davros’s voice came from behind a partially open door.

"Certainly, my Lord," Tourmaline said in her voice like melted gold. "The green tastes bad," Count Davros said drowsily, "but it gives me such lovely dreams. The red tastes better, but the dreams aren't so nice."

"Soon you'll be ready for the blue, my Lord," Tourmaline promised. There was a faint clink and the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. "Then the yellow, and finally the black. The black's best of all."

 

V led them on tiptoe past the half open door. The lock on the outside door yielded quickly to her skill, and they all slipped out into the cool, moonlit night. 

The stars twinkled overhead, and the air was sweet.

 

"I'll get the horses," Ruby said.

"Go with him, Jasper," Wolf said. "We'll wait over there." He pointed at the shadowy garden. The two disappeared around the corner, and the rest of them followed Mister Wolf into the looming shadow of the hedge which surrounded Count Davros’s garden.

 

They waited. The night was chilly, and Steven found himself shivering. 

Then there was a click of a hoof touching a stone, and Ruby and Jasper came back, leading the horses.

"We'd better hurry," Wolf said. "As soon as Davros drops off to sleep, Tourmaline is going to go down to the dungeon and find out that we've left. Lead the horses. Let's get away from the house before we start making any noise."

 

They went down through the moonlit garden with the horses trailing along after them until they emerged on the open lawn beyond. They mounted carefully.

 

"We'd better hurry," Aunt Pearl reiterated, glancing back at the house.

"I bought us a little time before I left," V said with a short laugh.

"How'd you manage that?" Amethyst asked.

"When I went to get our weapons, I also set fire to the kitchen." V smirked. "That will keep their attention for a bit."

A tendril of smoke rose from the back of the house.

"That's… Very clever," Aunt Pearl said with a certain grudging admiration.

"Why thank you, my Lady." V made a mocking little bow. Mister Wolf chuckled and led them away at an easy trot.

 

The tendril of smoke at the back of the house became thicker as they rode away, rising black and oily toward the uncaring stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olive Green Agate's obviously in reference to Holly Blue, another villain.


	16. Imperial Imperatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's straight down to business after escaping the clutches of uncertain death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's making a feature appearance in the next chapter? :)

**THEY RODE HARD** for the next several days, stopping only long enough to rest the horses and catch a few hours' sleep at infrequent intervals. 

 

Steven found that he could doze in his saddle whenever they walked the horses. He found, almost miraculously, that if he were tired enough, he could sleep almost anywhere. 

It was quite convenient, he thought, to be able to simply lean forward, rest his weary head against his horse's mane, and nod right off. 

 

One afternoon as they rested from the driving pace Wolf set, he heard Vidalia talking to the old man and Aunt Pearl. 

Curiosity finally won out over exhaustion, and he roused himself enough to listen.

 

"I'd still like to know more about Olive Agate’s involvement in this," the little woman was chirping.

 

"She's an opportunist," Wolf said. "Any time there's turmoil, she tries to turn it to her own advantage."

 

"That means we'll have to dodge Olivines as well as Isyaki." Steven's eyes popped wide open now. "Why do they call her Lustrous Olive Green Agate?" he asked Aunt Pearl. "Wasn't that the name of the first gem?"

 

"Well, yes and no," Aunt Pearl answered. "The Queens of Olivia are always named Olive Green Agate, no matter human nor gem. This particular one however… "

 

"Do you know her?"

 

"I don't have to," she told her. "They're always exactly the same. They all look alike and act alike. If you know one, you know them all."

 

"She's going to be terribly disappointed with Tourmaline, then, " V observed, grinning.

 

"I imagine that our little Tou has taken some quiet, painless way out by now," Wolf said. "Holly grows a bit excessive when she's irritated."

 

"Is she so cruel then?" Steven asked.

 

"Not cruel exactly," Wolf explained. "Olivians admire serpents. If you annoy a snake, he'll bite you. He's a simple creature, but very logical. Once he bites you, he doesn't hold any further grudges. No guarantees you'll survive the first bite though."

 

"Do we have to talk about snakes?" V asked in a pained voice.

 

"I think the horses are rested now," Ruby said from behind them. "We can go now."

 

They pushed the horses back into a gallop and pounded south toward the broad valley of the Sri Granges River and Tol Maheshwar. The sun turned warm, and the trees along the way were budding in the first days of spring. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

The gleaming Imperial City was situated on an island in the middle of the river, and all roads led there. 

It was clearly visible in the distance as they crested the last ridge and looked down into the fertile valley and it seemed to grow larger with each passing mile as they approached it. It was built entirely of white marble and it dazzled the eye in the midmorning sun. The walls were high and thick, and towers soared above them within the city.

 

A bridge arched gracefully across the rippled face of the Granges to the bronze expanse of the north gate where a glittering detachment of legionnaires marched perpetual guard.

 

V pulled on her conservative cloak and cap and drew herself up, her face assuming that sober, businesslike expression that meant that she was undergoing a private internal transition that seemed to make her almost believe herself that she was the Q’zarnian merchant whose identity she assumed.

 

"Your business in Tol Maheshwar?" one of the legionnaires asked politely. 

"I am Anna of Wal’kofte," V said with the preoccupied air of a merchantess whose mind was on business. "I carry Delmarvian woolens of the finest quality."

 

"You'll probably want to talk with the Steward of the Central Market, then," the legionnaire suggested.

 

"Thank you." V nodded and led them through the gate into the broad and crowded streets beyond.

 

"I think I'd better stop by the palace and have a talk with Doug Maheshwaran," Mister Wolf said. "The Maheshwarans aren't the easiest emperors to deal with, but they're the most intelligent. I shouldn't have too much trouble convincing him that the situation's serious."

 

"How are you going to get to see him?" Aunt Pearl asked him. "It could take weeks to get an appointment. You know how they are."

 

Mister Wolf made a sour face. "I suppose I could make a ceremonial visit of it," he said as they pushed their horses through the crowd.

 

"And announce your presence to the whole city?"

 

"Do I have any choice? I have to nail down the Shwareans. We can't afford to have them neutral."

 

"Could I make a suggestion?" Amethyst asked.

 

"Shoot."

 

"Why don't we go see Smiley?" Amethyst said. "He's the Wy-Atian Ambassador here in Tol Maheshwar. He could get us into the palace to see the Raja without all that much fuss."

 

"Hey, that's not a bad idea, Greg," Vidalia agreed. "Ol’ Mr Smiles’ got enough connections in the palace to get us inside quickly, and Doug respects him."

 

"That only leaves the problem of getting in to see the ambassador," Bismuth said as they stopped to let a heavy wagon pass into a side street.

 

"He's Thur-Man's friend," Amethyst said. "He and Thur-Man and I used to play together when we were small." 

 

“ _ **Small?**_ ” smirked Vidalia. 

 

“ _ **Small-er**_ ” replied Amethyst, her eyes rolling. 

 

The big gem looked around. "He's supposed to have a house near the garrison of the Third Imperial Legion. We could ask somebody for directions."

 

"That's not a problem, Amy," V said. "I know exactly where it is."

 

"Of course you do." Amethyst grinned.

 

"We can go through the north marketplace," V said. "The garrison's located near the main wharves on the downstream end of the island."

 

"Lead the way," Wolf told him. "I don't want to waste too much time here."

 

\-----------------------------------

 

The streets of Tol Maheshwar teemed with people from all over the world. 

Q’zarnians and Hrodenites rubbed elbows with Olivines and Drakans. There was a sprinkling of Indratu in the crowd and, to Steven's eye, a disproportionate number of Isyaki. 

 

Aunt Pearl was riding quite close beside Ruby, talking quietly to her and frequently laying her hand lightly on her quivering right arm. The lean gem’s eyes burned, and her nostrils steamed dangerously each time she saw a scarred Isyaki face.

 

The houses along the wide streets were imposing, with white marble facades and heavy doors, quite often guarded by private mercenary soldiers, who glared belligerently at passers-by.

 

"The people here aren't the neighbourly type are they?” Jasper observed. "Why all the guards?” 

 

"Troubled times," V explained. "And the merchant princes of Tol Maheshwar keep a great deal of the world's wealth in their counting-rooms. There are men along this street who could buy most of Flaxia if they wanted to."

 

"Well, Flaxia is not for sale," Jasper said stiffly.

 

"In Tol Maheshwar, my dear Baron, everything's for sale," V told him. "Honor, virtue, friendship, love. It's a wicked city full of wicked people, and money's the only thing that matters."

 

"I expect you'll fit like a glove here, then," Amethyst said.

 

V laughed that delighted little laugh. "I like Tol Maheshwar," she admitted. "The people here have no illusions. They're refreshingly corrupt."

 

"Stars," Amethyst stated bluntly. “You really are something else, Vi” 

 

"So you've said before," the ferret-faced little Q’zarnian said with a mocking grin.

 

\-----------------------

 

The banner of Wy-Ate, the outline of a pink war-boat on a matte background, fluttered from a pole surmounting the gate of the ambassador's house. 

Amethyst dismounted a bit stiffly and strode to the iron grill which blocked the gate. 

 

"Tell Smiley that his cousin Amy’s here to see him," he announced to the bearded guards inside.

 

"How do we know you're this cousin of his?" one of the guards demanded roughly.

 

Amethyst casually reached in through the grill and took hold of the front of the guard's mail shirt. 

She pulled the man up firmly against the barn.

 

"Excuse me?" she asked, "Would you like to rephrase that question?"

 

"Oh no, heheh, Lord Amethyst," the man apologized quickly. "Now that I'm closer, I do seem to recognize your face."

 

"Ah! That's a relief." Amy said.

 

"Let me unlock the gate for you," the guard suggested.

 

“Good idea," Amethyst said, letting go of the man's shirt. The guard opened the gate quickly, and the party rode into a spacious courtyard.

 

Mr Smiley, the ambassador of King Thur-Man to the Imperial Court at Tol Maheshwar, was a burly man almost as big as Amethyst. His beard was trimmed very short, and he wore a Shwar-style orange mantle. He came down the stairs two at a time and caught Amethyst in a vast bear hug. 

 

"You pirate!" he roared. "What are you doing here in Shwar?"

 

"Ol’ T-man’s decided to invade the place," Amethyst joked. "As soon as we've rounded up all the gold and young women, we're going to let you burn the city."

 

Mr Smiley’s eyes glittered with a momentary hunger. "Wouldn't that infuriate them?" he said with a vicious grin.

 

"What happened to your beard?" Amethyst asked suddenly. 

 

Smiley coughed and deflated. 

"It's not important," he said quickly.

 

"We've never had any secrets," Amy accused.

 

Mr Smiley spoke quietly to his cousin for a moment, looking very ashamed of himself, and Barak burst out with a great roar of laughter. 

 

"Why did you let him do that?" she demanded.

 

"I was drunk," Smiley said, grinning foolishly. "And you know I can't say no to Quen."

 

The rest of them followed the two big Wy-Atians into the house, and they went down a broad hallway to a room with Wy-Atian furnishings - heavy chairs and benches covered with skins, a rush-strewn floor and a huge fireplace where the butt end of a large log smoldered. Several pitch-smeared torches smoked in iron rings on the stone wall.

 

"I feel more at home here," Smiley said.

 

A servant brought tankards of dark brown ale for them all and then quietly left the room. 

Steven quickly lifted his tankard and took a large swallow of the bitter drink before Aunt Pearl could suggest something more bland. 

She suppressed a laugh as he tried unsuccessfully to pretend like he could handle the taste, to say nothing of the awful burning sensation he felt going down. 

 

Smiley sprawled in a large, hand-hewn chair with a bearskin tossed over it. "Why are you really in Tol Maheshwar, Amy?" he asked.

 

"Smiles," Amethyst said seriously, "this here's Greg. The Greg. I'm sure you've heard of him."

 

The ambassador's eyes widened, and he inclined his head. 

 

"The Universe has truly blessed me," he said respectfully.

 

"Can you get me an audience with Doug Maheshwaran?" Mister Wolf asked, sitting on a rough bench near the fireplace.

 

"Without any difficulty."

 

"Good," Wolf said. "I have to talk to him, and I don't want to stir up any fuss in the process."

 

Amy introduced the others, and her cousin nodded politely to each of them.

 

"You've come to Tol Maheshwar during a turbulent period," he said after the amenities were over. "The nobility of Shwar are gathering in the city like ravens on a dead cow."

 

"We picked up a hint or two of that on our way south," V told him. "Is it as bad as we heard?"

 

"Probably worse," Smiley said, scratching one ear. "Dynastic succession only happens a few times in each eon. The Maheshwarans have been in power now for over six hundred years, and the other houses are anticipating the changeover with a great deal of enthusiasm."

 

"Who's the most likely to succeed Doug?" Mister Wolf asked.

 

"Right at the moment the best would probably be the Grand Duke Kevin Bal of Tol Tjinder," Smiley answered. "He seems to have more money than the rest. The Hariths are richer, of course, but they've got seven candidates, and their wealth is spread out a little too thin. The other families aren't really in the running. The Maheshwarans don't have anyone suitable, and no one takes the Coralites seriously."

 

Steven carefully set his tankard on the floor beside the stool he sat on. 

The bitter ale didn't really have a pleasant aftertaste, as he had been led to believe, and he felt vaguely cheated somehow. 

The half tankard he had drunk made his ears quite warm, though, and the end of his nose seemed a little numb.

 

"A Tjinderian we met said that the Morganites are using poison," V said.

 

"They all are." frowned Smiley in disgust. "The Morganites are just a little more obvious about it, that's all. One thing's for sure though, if Doug dies tomorrow, though, Kevin will be the next Emperor."

 

Mister Wolf frowned. "I've never had much success dealing with the Tjinderians. They don't really have imperial stature."

 

"The old Emperor's still in pretty fair health, surprisingly,” Smiley said. "If he hangs on for another year or two, the Hariths will probably fall into line behind one candidate - whichever one survives - and then they'll be able to bring all their money to bear on the situation. These things take time, though. The candidates themselves are staying out of town for the most part, and they're all being extremely careful, so the assassins are having a great deal of difficulty reaching them." He laughed, taking a long drink of ale. "They're a funny people."

 

"Could we go to the palace now?" Mister Wolf asked.

 

"We'll want to change clothes first," Aunt Pearl said firmly.

 

"Again, Pearl?" Wolf gave her a long-suffering look.

 

"Just do it, Greg," she said. "I won't let you embarrass us by wearing rags to the palace."

 

"I'm not going to wear that neck trap again." The old man's voice was stubborn.

 

"No," she said. "It wouldn't be suitable. I'm sure the ambassador can lend you a mantle. You won't be quite so obvious that way."

 

"Whatever you say, Pearl." Wolf sighed, giving up.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

After they had changed, Mr Smiley formed up his honor-guard, a grim looking group of Wy-Atian warriors, and they were escorted along the broad avenues of Tol Maheshwar toward the palace. 

 

Steven, all bemused by the opulence of the city and feeling just a trifle giddy from the effects of the half tankard of ale he had drunk, rode quietly beside Vidalia, trying not to gawk at the huge buildings or the richly dressed Shwareans strolling with grave decorum in the afternoon sun. 


	17. Beware The Ides of March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Granted an audience with His Highness, Doug Maheshwaran XIV, Steven meets two very important people in his life.

**THE IMPERIAL PALACE** **SAT** on a high hill in the center of Tol Maheshwar. 

It consisted not of one building, but rather was a complex of many, large and small, all built of marble and surrounded by gardens and lawns where cypress trees cast a pleasing shade. The entire compound was enclosed by a high wall, surmounted by statues spaced at intervals along its top. 

 

The legionnaires at the palace gate recognized the Wy-Atian ambassador and sent immediately for one of the Emperor's chamberlains, a gray-haired official in a brown mantle.

 

"I need to see Doug Maheshwaran, Lord Morrigan," Smiley told him as they all dismounted in a marble courtyard just inside the palace gate. "It's a matter of urgency."

 

"Of course, Lord Harold," the gray-haired man assented. "His Imperial Highness is always delighted to speak with the personal envoy of King Thur-Man. Unfortunately, his Highness is resting just now. I should be able to get you in to see him sometime this afternoon - tomorrow morning at the latest."

 

"This won't wait, Morig," Smiley said. "We have to see the Emperor immediately. You'd better go wake him up."

 

Lord Morrigan looked surprised. "It can't be  **_that_ ** urgent," he suggested chillingly.

 

"I'm afraid so," Smiley said.

 

Morrigan pursed his lips thoughtfully as he looked at each member of the party.

 

"You know me well enough to realize that I wouldn't ask this lightly, Mori," Smiley said.

 

Morrigan sighed. "I'm trusting you a great deal, Harry. All right. Come along. Ask your soldiers to wait."

 

Smiley made a curt gesture to his guards, and the party followed Lord Morrigan through a broad courtyard to a columned gallery that ran along one of the buildings.

 

"How's he been?" Smiley asked as they walked along the shady gallery.

 

"His health is still good," Morrigan answered, "but his temper's been deteriorating lately. The Maheshwarans have been resigning their posts in flocks and returning to Tol Harith."

 

"That seems prudent under the circumstances," Smiley said. "I suspect that a certain number of fatalities are likely to accompany the succession."

 

"Probably so," Morrigan agreed, "but his Highness finds it a bit distressing to be abandoned by members of his own family." He stopped by an arched marble gate where two legionnaires in gold-embellished breastplates stood stiffly. "Please leave your weapons here. His Highness is sensitive about such things - I'm sure you can understand."

 

"Of course," Smiley said, pulling a heavy sword out from under his mantle and leaning it against the wall.

 

They all followed his example, and Lord Morrigan’s eyes flickered slightly with surprise when V removed three different daggers from various places beneath her garments, some from very personal locations indeed. 

 

 _“Formidable_ _equipment,”_  the chamberlain's hands flickered in the gestures of the secret language.

 

“ _Troubled_ _times,”_ V’s fingers explained deprecatingly.

 

Lord Morrigan smiled faintly and led them through the gate into the garden beyond. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

The lawn in the garden was neatly manicured. There were softly splashing fountains, and the rosebushes were all well-pruned. Fruit trees that seemed to be very old were budding, almost ready to burst into bloom in the warm sun. Sparrows bickered over nesting sites on the twisted limbs. 

 

Smiley and the others followed Morrigan along a curving marble walk toward the center of the garden.

 

Doug Maheshwaran XIV, Emperor of Imperial Shwar, was, by no standard of visible measurement, as old as everyone was making him out to be. His hair was yet a crisp, chestnut brown, which was trimmed in the way his beard was. Reasonably so. He had gold piercings behind his ears and was dressed in a gold-colored mantle. 

He appeared to be lounging in a heavy chair beneath a budding grape arbor, feeding small seeds to a bright canary perched on the arm of his chair. His very posture radiated presence, and an air that suggested he was quite used to getting what he wanted. 

It was only when he turned to regard them that Steven realised where his age showed.

In his golden-brown eyes, Steven saw an old man that had weathered the passage of the decades with a practised pragmatism learned from those before him. There was another emotion there too. A bitterness and longing Steven had only seen twice before with V and Jasper. 

 

“I said I wanted to be left  **_alone_ ** , Morrigan," he said in a testy voice, looking up from the canary.

 

"A million apologies, your Highness," Lord Morrigan explained, bowing deeply. "Lord Harold, the ambassador of Wy-Ate, wishes to present you a matter of gravest urgency. He convinced me that it simply could not wait."

 

The Emperor looked sharply at Smiley. His eyes grew sly, almost malicious. 

 

"I see that your beard's beginning to grow back, Smiley."

 

Smiley's face flushed slowly. "I should have known that your Highness would have heard of my little misfortune."

 

"I know everything that happens in Tol Maheshwar, Lord Harold," the Emperor snapped. "Even if all my cousins and nephews are running like rats out of a burning house, my damned scoundrel of a wife non-withstanding.”

 

"We're indubitably sorry for your loss, my Emperor," Smiley said mournfully.

 

"Who are these?" the Emperor asked, waving one finger at the members of the party standing on the grass somewhat behind Ambassador Smiley.

 

"My cousin Amethyst and some friends," Smiley said. "They're the ones who have to talk to you."

 

"The Earl of Crenellan?" the Emperor asked. "What are you doing in Tol Maheshwar, my Lord?"

 

"Just passing through, your Highness," Amethyst replied, bowing.

 

Doug looked sharply at each of the rest in turn as if actually seeing them for the first time.

 

"And this would be Princess Vidalia of Q’zarnia," he said, "who left Tol Maheshwar in a hurry last time she was here - posing as an acrobat in a traveling circus, I believe, and about one jump ahead of the police."

 

Vidalia also bowed politely, a cheeky smile upon her face. 

 

"And Ruby of Aine," the Emperor continued, "the gem who's trying to depopulate Sivu Isyak single-handedly."

 

Ruby inclined her head.

 

"Mori," the Emperor demanded sharply, "why have you surrounded me with Sangrians? I don't like Sangrians."

 

"It's this matter of urgency, your Highness," Morrigan replied apologetically.

 

"And a Flax?" the Emperor said, looking at Jasper. "A Gelarian, I should say." His eyes narrowed. "From the descriptions I've heard, he could only be the Baron of I'chir Quartizia."

 

Jasper's salute was gracefully elaborate. "thine eye is most keen, your Highness, to have read us each in turn without prompting."

 

"Not all of you precisely," the Emperor said. "I don't recognize the Delmar or the Hroden lad."

 

Steven’s mind jumped. Amy had once told him that he resembled a Hrodenite more than anything else, but that thought had been lost in the welter of events which had followed the chance remark. 

Now the Emperor of Imperial Shwar, whose eye seemed to have an uncanny ability to penetrate to the true nature of things, had also identified him as a Hrodenite. 

He glanced quickly at Aunt Pearl, but she seemed absorbed in examining the buds on a rosebush.

 

"The Delmar is Bismuth," Mister Wolf said, "a smith. In Delmarvia that useful trade is considered somewhat akin to nobility. The lad is my grandson, Steven."

 

The Emperor looked at the old man. 

"It seems that I should know who you are. There's something about you-" He paused thoughtfully. The canary, which had been perched on the arm of the Emperor's chair, suddenly burst into song. 

He launched himself into the air and fluttered directly to Aunt Pearl. She held out her finger, and the bright bird landed there, tipped back his head and sang ecstatically as if his tiny heart were breaking with adoration. She listened gravely to his song. 

She wore a light turquoise dress, elaborately laced at the bodice, and a short sable cape.

 

"What are you doing with my canary?" the Emperor demanded.

 

"Listening," she said.

 

"How did you get him to sing? I've been trying to coax him into song for months."

 

"You didn't take him seriously enough."

 

"Who is this woman?" the Emperor asked.

 

"My daughter Polina," Mister Wolf said. "She has a particularly keen understanding of birds."

 

The Emperor laughed suddenly, a harshly skeptical laugh. 

 

"Oh, come now. You really don't expect me to accept that, do you?"

 

Wolf looked at him gravely. "Have you forgotten so soon, Douglas Maheshwaran?" he asked mildly. The pale green mantle Smiley had lent him made him look almost like a Shwarean - almost, but not quite.

 

"It's a clever ruse," the Emperor said. "You look the part, and so does she, but I'm not a child. I gave up fairy tales a long time ago."

 

"That's a pity. I'd guess that your life's been a little empty since then." Wolf looked around at the manicured garden with the servants and fountains and the members of the Emperor's personal guard posted unobtrusively here and there among the flowerbeds. "Even with all this, Doug, a life without any wonder left in it is flat and stale." His voice was a little sad. "I think that perhaps you gave up too much."

 

"Morrigan," Doug Maheshwaran demanded peremptorily, "send for Zilliax. We'll settle this immediately."

 

"At once, your Highness," Morrigan said and beckoned to one of the servants.

 

"May I have my canary back?" the Emperor asked Aunt Pearl rather plaintively.

 

"Of course." She moved across the grass toward the chair, stepping slowly to avoid startling the trilling little bird.

 

"Sometimes I wonder what they're saying when they sing," Doug sighed.

 

"Right now he's telling me about the day he learned to fly," Aunt Pearl said. "That's a very important day for a bird." She reached out her hand, and the canary hopped onto the Emperor's finger, still singing and with its bright eye cocked toward Doug’s face.

 

"That's an amusing conceit, I suppose." The young old man smiled, staring out at the sunlight sparkling on the water in one of the fountains. "But I'm afraid I don't have time for that kind of thing. Right now the whole nation is holding its breath in anticipation of my death. They all seem to think that the greatest thing I can do for Shwar is to die immediately. Some of them have even gone to the trouble of trying to help me along. We caught four assassins inside the palace grounds just last week. The Maheshwarans my own family, my wife even, are deserting me to the point that I scarcely have enough people left to run the palace, much less the Empire. Ah, here comes Zilliax."

 

A lean, bushy-browed man in a red mantle covered with mystic symbols scurried across the lawn and bowed deeply to the emperor. "You sent for me, your Highness?"

 

"I am informed that this woman is Polina the Sorceress," the Emperor said, "and that the old man there is Gregarion. Be a good fellow, Zilliax, and have a look into their credentials."

 

"Gregarion and Polina?" the bushy-browed man scoffed. "Surely your Highness isn't serious. The names are mythological. No such people exist."

 

"You see," the Emperor said to Aunt Pearl. "You don't exist. I have it on the very best authority. Zilliax’s a wizard himself, you know."

 

"Really?"

 

"One of the very best," he assured her. "Of course most of his tricks are just sleight of hand, since sorcery's only a sham, but he amuses me and he takes himself very seriously. You may proceed, Zilliax, but try not to raise an awful stink, as you usually do."

 

"That won't be necessary, your Highness," Zilliax said flatly. "If they were wizards of any kind, I'd have recognized them immediately. We have special ways of communicating, you know."

 

Aunt Pearl looked at the wizard with one eyebrow slightly raised. "I think that you should look a bit closer, Zilliax," she suggested. "Sometimes we miss things." She made an almost imperceptible gesture, and Steven seemed to hear a faint rush of sound.

 

The wizard stared, his eyes fixed on open air directly in front of him. His eyes began to bulge, and his face turned deathly pale. As if his legs had been cut from under him, he fell onto his face. 

 

"Forgive me, my Pearl," he croaked, groveling.

 

"That's supposed to impress me, I assume," the Emperor said. "I've seen men's minds overwhelmed before, however, and Zilliax mind isn't all that strong to begin with."

 

"Douglas Maheshwaran," she said, exasperated. “This is very vexing. I'd stop right now if I were you, or I'm going to be very cross with you.”

 

"You really ought to believe her, you know." The canary spoke in a tiny, piping voice. "I knew who she was immediately - of course we're much more perceptive than you things that creep around on the ground - why do you do that? If you'd just try, I'm sure you'd be able to fly. And I wish you'd stop eating so much garlic - it makes you smell awful."

 

"Hush, now," Aunt Pearl said gently to the bird. "You can tell him all about it later."

 

The Emperor was trembling violently, and he stared at the bird as if it were a snake.

 

"Why don't we all just behave as if we believed that Pearl and I are who we say we are?" Mister Wolf suggested. "We could spend the rest of the day trying to convince you, and we really don't have that much time. There are some things I have to tell you, and they're important no matter who I am."

 

"I think I can accept that," Doug said, still trembling and staring at the now-silent canary.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

Mister Wolf clasped his hands behind his back and stared up at a cluster of bickering sparrows on the limb of a nearby tree. "Early last fall," he began, "Andarion the Renegade crept into the throne room at Hrodenheim and stole The Grey Ward."

 

"He did  **_what_ ** ?" Doug demanded, sitting up quickly. "How?"

 

"We don't know," Wolf answered. "When I catch up with him, maybe I'll ask him. I'm sure, however, that you can see the importance of the event."

 

"Obviously," the Emperor said.

 

"The Sangrians and the Delmars are quietly preparing for war," Wolf told him.

 

"War?" Doug Maheshwaran asked in a shocked voice. "With whom?"

 

"The Alabastians, of course."

 

"What's Andy got to do with the Alabs? He could be acting on his own, couldn't he?"

 

"Surely you're not that simple," Aunt Pearl remarked.

 

"You forget yourself, Lady," Doug said stiffly. "Where's Andy now?"

 

"He went through Tol Maheshwar about two weeks ago," Wolf replied. "If he can get across the border into one of the Alabastian kingdoms before I can stop him, the Sangrians will march."

 

"And Flaxia with them," Jasper said firmly. "King Lavirintos has also been advised."

 

" **_You'll tear the world apart_ ** ," the Emperor protested.

 

"Perhaps," Wolf admitted, "but we can't let Andy get to Black Diamond with the Ward."

 

"I'll send emissaries at once," Doug said. "This has to be headed off before it gets out of hand."

 

"It's a little late for that," Amethyst said grimly. "T-man and the others aren't in any mood for diplomacy right now, certainly not with the Shwareans.”

 

"Your people have a bad reputation in the north, your Highness," V pointed out. "They always seem to have a few trade agreements up their sleeves. Every time Shwar mediates a dispute, it seems to cost a great deal. I don't think we can afford your good offices anymore."

 

\----------------------

 

A cloud passed in front of the sun, and the garden seemed suddenly chilly in its shadow.

 

"This is being blown all out of proportion," the Emperor protested. "The Sangrians and the Alabastians have been squabbling over that worthless stone for thousands of years. You've been waiting for the chance to fall on each other, and now you've got an excuse. Well, enjoy yourselves. Shwar’s not going to get involved as long as I'm her Emperor."

 

"You're not going to be able to sit to one side in this, Doug," Aunt Pearl warned. 

 

"Why not? The Ward doesn't concern me one way or the other. Go ahead and destroy each other if you want. Shwar will still be here when it's all over."

 

"I doubt it," Wolf told him. "Your Empire's crawling with Isyaki. They could overrun you in a week."

 

"They're honest merchants - here on honest business."

 

"Isyaki don't  **_have_ ** honest business," Aunt Pearl told him. "Every Isyaki in Shwar is here because he was sent by the Marek High Priest."

 

"That's an exaggeration," Doug said stubbornly. "The whole world knows that you and your father have an obsessive hatred of all Alabastians, but times have changed."

 

"Sivu Isyaki is still ruled from Fy Sivu," Wolf said, "and Aquamarine is master there. Aqua hasn't changed, even if the world has. The merchants from Sivu Isyaki  might seem civilized to you, but they all jump when Aqua whistles, and she’s the disciple of Black Diamond."

 

"Black is dead."

 

"Is she?" Aunt Pearl said. "Have you seen her grave? Have you opened the grave and seen her shattered gem?"

 

"My Empire's very expensive to run," the Emperor said, "and I need the revenue the Isyaki bring me. I've got agents in Sivu Isyaki and all along the South Caravan Route, so I'd know if the Isyaki were getting ready for any kind of move against me. I'm just a little suspicious that all this might be the result of some internal contention within the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. You people have your own motives, and I'm not going to let you use my Empire as a pawn in your power struggles."

 

"And if the Alabastians win?" Aunt Pearl said, "How do you plan to deal with Black Diamond?"

 

"I'm not afraid of her."

 

"Have you ever met her?" Wolf asked.

 

"Obviously not. Listen, Greg, you and your daughter have never been friendly to Shwar. You treated us like a defeated enemy after I'chir Gelar. Your information's interesting, and I'll consider it in its proper perspective, but Shwarean policy is not dominated by Sangrian preconceptions. Our economy relies heavily on trade along the South Caravan Route. I'm not going to disrupt my Empire simply because you happen to dislike Isyaki."

 

“Then you will die a fool," Wolf said bluntly.

 

"You'd be surprised at how many people think so," the Emperor replied. "Maybe you'll have better luck with my successor. If he's a Tjinderian or a Harith, you might even be able to bribe him, but Maheshwarans don't take bribes."

 

"Or good advice it seems," Aunt Pearl added.

 

"Only when it suits us, Lady Polina," Doug Maheshwaran added with finality. 

 

"I think we've done everything we can here," Wolf decided.

 

 

A bronze door at the back of the garden slammed open, and a tiny girl with dark auburn hair stormed through, her eyes ablaze. At first Steven thought she was a child, but as she came closer, he realized that she was somewhat older than that. Although she was very small, the short, sleeveless green tunic she wore displayed limbs that were much closer to maturity.

 

He felt a peculiar kind of shock when he saw her - almost, but not quite, like recognition. Her hair was a tumbled mass with long, elaborate curls cascading down over her neck and shoulders, and it was a color that Steven had never seen before, a deep, burnished reddish-brown that seemed somehow to glow from within. Her skin was dark, tan colour that seemed, as she swept through the shadows of the trees near the gate, to have an almost greenish cast to it. She was in a state verging on sheer rage. 

 

"Dad, why do you keep me imprisoned here?" she demanded of the Emperor.

 

"What are you talking about?" Doug asked.

 

"The legionnaires won't let me leave the palace grounds!"

 

"Oh," the Emperor said, " **_that_ ** ."

 

"Exactly. That. "

 

"They're acting on my orders, Connie," the Emperor told her.

 

"So they said. Tell them to  **_stop it_ ** ."

 

"No."

 

"No?" Her tone was incredulous. "No?" Her voice climbed several octaves. " **_Why not?_ ** "

 

"It's too dangerous for you to be out in the city just now," the Emperor said placatingly.

 

"How is it dangerous when the people have never even seen what I look like?" she snapped. "I don't have  **_any_ ** friends, I feel like I don't have any family now that mom's gone, because  **_you're never around,_ ** and I certainly don't intend to sit around in this stuffy palace just because you're afraid of your own shadow. I need some things from the market."

 

"Send someone."

 

**_"I don't want to send anyone!"_ ** she shouted at him. "I want to go myself."

 

"Well, you can't," he said flatly. "Spend your time on your studies instead."

 

"I don't want to study," she cried. "Jeeves is a stuffy idiot, and he bores me. I don't want to sit around talking about history or politics or any of the rest of it. I just want an afternoon to myself."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

" **Daddy,** **_please,_ ** " she begged, her tone dropping into a wheedling note. She took hold of one of the folds of his gold mantle and twisted it around one of her tiny fingers. 

 

" **_Please_ ** ." The look she directed at the Emperor through her lashes would have melted stone.

 

"Absolutely  **_not_ ** ," he said, refusing to look at her. "My order stands. You will not leave the palace grounds."

 

"Urghhh! I  **_hate_ ** you!" she cried. Then she ran from the garden in tears. 

 

"My daughter," the Emperor explained almost apologetically. "You can't imagine what it's like having a child like that."

 

"Oh, I can imagine, all right," Mister Wolf said, glancing at Aunt Pearl. She looked back at him, her eyes daring him to speak further.

 

"Go ahead and say it, father," she told him. "I'm sure you won't be happy until you do."

 

Wolf shrugged. "Forget it."

 

Doug looked thoughtfully at the two of them. "It occurs to me that we might be able to negotiate a bit here," he said, his eyes narrowing.

 

"What did you have in mind?" Wolf asked.

 

"You have a certain authority among the Sangrians," the Emperor suggested.

 

"Some," Wolf admitted carefully.

 

"If you were to ask them, I'm sure they'd be willing to overlook one of the more absurd provisions of the Accords of I'chir Gelar."

 

"Which one is that?"

 

"There's really no necessity for Connie to journey to Hrodenheim, is there? I'm the last emperor of the Maheshwaran Dynasty, and when I die, she won't be an Imperial Princess anymore. Under the circumstances, I'd say that the requirement doesn't really apply to her. It's nonsense anyway. The line of the Hroden King became extinct thirteen hundred years ago, so there isn't going to be any bridegroom waiting for her in the Hall of the Hroden King. As you've seen, Shwar’s a very dangerous place just now. Connie’s sixteenth birthday's only a year or so off, and the date's well known. If I have to send her to Hrodenheim, half the assassins in the Empire are going to be lurking outside the palace gates, waiting for her to come out. I'd rather not take that kind of risk. If you could see your way clear to speak to the Sangrians, I might be able to make a few concessions regarding the Isyaki - restrictions on their numbers, closed areas, that sort of thing."

 

"No, Doug," Aunt Pearl said in a tone that left no room for negotiation. "Connie will go to Hrodenheim. You've failed to understand that the Accords are only a formality. If your daughter's the one destined to become the bride of the Hroden King, no force on earth can prevent her from being in the throne room at Hrodenheim on the appointed day. My father's recommendations about the Isyakk are only suggestions -  **_for your own good_ ** . What you choose to do about the matter is your affair."

 

"I think we've just about exhausted the possibilities of this conversation," the Emperor stated coldly.

 

Two important-looking officials came into the garden and spoke briefly to Lord Morrigan.

 

"Your Highness," the gray-haired chamberlain said deferentially, "the Minister of Trade wanted to inform you that he's reached an excellent agreement with the trade deputation from Fy Isyak. The gentlemen from Sivu Isyak were most accommodating."

 

"I'm delighted to hear it," Doug Maheshwaran said, throwing a meaningful look at Mister Wolf.

 

"The contingent from Fy Isyak would like to pay their respects before they leave," Morrigan added.

 

"By all means," the Emperor said. "I'll be delighted to receive them here."

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Morrigan turned and nodded shortly to the two officials near the gate. The officials turned and spoke to someone outside, and the gate swung open.

 

Five Isyaki strode into the garden. Their coarse black robes were hooded, but the hoods were thrown back. The front of their robes were unclasped, and the chain mail shirts they all wore gleamed in the sunlight. 

The Isyaki in front was a bit taller than the others, and his bearing indicated that he was the leader of the delegation. 

A welter of images and partial memories flooded Steven’s mind as he looked at the scar-faced enemy he had known all his life. The strange pull of the silent, hidden linkage between them touched him. It was Rohk-Nal-Do.

 

Something brushed Steven’s mind, tentative only - not the powerful force the Isyaki had directed at him in the dim hallway in Thur-Man’s palace at Van Sangria. The amulet under his tunic became very cold and yet seemed to burn at the same time.

 

"Your Imperial Highness," Rohk said, striding forward with a cold smile, "we are honored to be admitted into your august presence." He bowed, his mail shirt clinking.

 

Amethyst was holding Ruby's quivering right arm firmly, and Jasper, taking her cue moved and to take the other. Both her arms restrained, Steven wondered if it would be enough to stop her rage. 

 

Indeed, so livid was the red gem, that Steven thought he saw wisps of smoke rose from the carpet beneath her feet.

 

"I'm overjoyed to see you again, worthy Rohk," the Emperor said. "I'm told that an agreement has been reached."

 

"Beneficial to both sides, your Highness."

 

"The best kind of agreement," Doug approved.

 

"Tor Unalaq, King of the Isyaki, sends greetings," Rohk said. "His Majesty feels most keenly the desirability of cementing relations between Sivu Isyak and Shwarea. He hopes that one day he may call your Imperial Highness brother."

 

"We respect the peaceful intentions and legendary wisdom of Tor Unalaq." The Emperor smiled with a certain smugness.

 

Rohk looked around, his black eyes flat. 

 

"Well, Helena," he said to Vidalia, "your fortunes seem to have improved immensely since last we met in Morgan’s counting room in Wollock."

 

V spread her hands in an innocent-looking gesture. "The Diamonds have smiled upon me - those of them who  **_can_ ** anyway."

 

A brief, strained smile mixed with a scowl flashed upon his face briefly.

 

"You know each other?" the Emperor asked, a bit surprised.

 

"We've met, your Highnešs," V admitted.

 

"In another kingdom," Rohk added. He looked directly then at Mister Wolf. "Gregarion," he said politely with a brief nod.

 

"Bloodstone," the old man replied.

 

"You're looking well."

 

"Thank you."

 

"It seems that I'm the only stranger here," the Emperor said.

 

"Bloodstone and I have known each other for a very long time," Mister Wolf told him. He glanced at the Isyaki with a faintly malicious twinkle in his eyes. "I see that you've managed to recover from your recent indisposition."

 

Rohk’s face flickered with annoyance, and he looked quickly at his shadow on the floor as if for reassurance.

 

Steven remembered what Wolf had said atop the knoll after the attack of the Gem Mutants - something about a shadow returning by an "indirect route." 

 

For some reason the information that Rohk the Isyaki and Bloodstone the Marek were the same man did not particularly surprise him. 

Like a complex melody that had been faintly out of tune, the sudden merging of the two seemed right somehow. The knowledge clicked in his mind like a key in a lock.

 

"Someday you'll have to show me how you did that," Rohk was saying. "I found the experience interesting. My horse had hysterics, however."

 

"My apologies to your horse."

 

"Why is it that I feel as if I'm missing about half of this conversation?" Doug asked.

 

"Forgive us, your Highness," Rohk said. "Ancient Greg and I are renewing an old enmity. We've seldom had the opportunity to speak to each other with any degree of civility." 

 

He turned and bowed politely to Aunt Pearl. 

 

"My Dearest Pearl, Eternal Beauty. Truly, words do you no justice," He eyed her with a deliberately suggestive stare.

 

"You haven't changed much either,  **_Bloodstone_ ** ." 

 

Her tone was mild, even bland, but Steven, who knew her so well, recognized immediately the deadly insult she had just delivered to the Marek.

 

" **_Charming_ ** ," Rohk said with a faint smile.

 

"This is better than a play," the Emperor cried delightedly. "You people are  **_actually_ ** dripping with malice. I wish I'd had the opportunity to see the first act."

 

"The first act was very long, your Highness," Rohk said, "and quite often tedious. As you may have noticed, Greg sometimes gets carried away with his own cleverness."

 

"I'm certain I'll be able to make up for that," Mister Wolf told him with a slight smile. "I promise you that this last act will be  **_extremely_ ** short, Bloodstone."

 

" **_Threats_ ** , old man?" Rohk asked. "I thought we'd agreed to be civilized."

 

"I can't recall when we ever agreed on anything," Wolf said. He turned to the Emperor. "I think we'll leave now, Doug," he said. "With your permission, of course."

 

"Of course," the Emperor replied. "I'm pleased to have met you though I still don't believe in you, naturally. My skepticism, however, is theological, not personal."

 

"I'm glad of that," Wolf said, and quite suddenly he grinned impishly at the Emperor.

 

Doug laughed. A surprisingly sincere laugh that hinted at fondness. 

 

"I look forward to our next meeting, Gregarion," Rohk said.

 

"I wouldn't if I were you," Wolf advised him, then turned and led the way out of the Emperor's garden.


	18. Designs Upon The Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship realises the true extent of Rohk's plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I'm excited but I'm starting to get more than a little tired of writing. I NEED to do something drastic or I'm going to lose interest in writing altogether.

**IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON** when they emerged from the palace gate. The broad lawns were green in the warm spring sunlight, and the cypress trees stirred in a faint breeze.

 

"I don't think we want to stay in Tol Maheshwar for much longer," Wolf said.

"Great. Does that mean we leave now?" Jasper asked.

"There's something I have to do first," Wolf replied, squinting into the sunlight. "Amethyst and Smiley will come along with me. The rest of you go on back to Smiley’s house and wait there."

"We'll stop by the central market on our way," Aunt Pearl told him. "There are a few things I need."

"This isn't a shopping expedition, Pearl."

"The Mareks already know we're here, father," she said, "so there's no point in creeping about like sneak thieves, is there?"

He sighed. "All right, Pearl."

"I knew you'd see it my way," she said, beaming.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Mister Wolf shook his head helplessly and rode off with Amy and Smiley. The rest of them rode down the hill from the palace toward the gleaming city below. The streets at the foot of the hill were broad and lined on either side by magnificent houses-each almost a palace in itself.

 

"The rich and the noble," V said. "In Tol Maheshwar, the closer you live to the palace, the more important you are."

"'Typical," Jasper observed. "Those with wealth and power often need to be constantly reassured of their status. Almost as if they know how fickle it all is. So they fool themselves with these petty pursuits, to make them forget how small they really are."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," V murmured in agreement.

 

The central marketplace of Tol Maheshwar was a vast square filled with bright-colored booths and stalls where a significant portion of the goods of the world were on display. 

Aunt Pearl dismounted, left her horse with one of the Wy-Atian guards, and moved busily from booth to booth, buying, it appeared, almost everything in sight. 

Vidalia's face blanched often at her purchases, since she was paying for them. Before long it seemed as though she would faint outright from the sheer volume of the goods she was having her purchase.

"Can't you talk to her?" the small woman pleaded with Steven. "She's destroying me."

"What makes you think she'd listen to me?" Steven asked.

"You could at least try, " V said desperately. “Steven,  **_please._ ** ”

 

Three richly mantled men stood near the center of the market, arguing heatedly.

"You're mad, Haddock," one of them, a thin man with a snub nose, said agitatedly. "The Hariths would strip the Empire for their own profit." His face was flushed, and his eyes bulged dangerously.

"Would Kevin of the Tjinderians be any better?" the stout man named Haddock demanded. "You're the one who's mad, Robert. If we put Kevin on the throne, he'll  **_grind_ ** us all under foot. There's such a thing as being too imperial."

"How  **_dare_ ** you?" Robert almost screamed, his perspiring face growing darker. "Grand Duke Kevin is the only possible choice. I'd vote for him even if he hadn't paid me." He gesticulated wildly as he talked, and his tongue seemed to stumble over his words.

" **_Kevin’s a pig_ ** ," Haddock said flatly, carefully watching Robert as if gauging the impact of his words. "An arrogant, brutal pig with no more right to the throne than a mongrel dog. His great-grandfather bought his way into the House of Tjinder, and I'd sooner open a vein than bow to the offspring of a sneak thief from the docks of Tol Tjinder."

Robert’s eyes almost started from his head at Haddock’s calculated insults. He opened his mouth several times as if trying to speak, but his tongue seemed frozen with fury. His face turned purple, and he clawed at the air in front of him. Then his body stiffened and began to arch backward.

Haddock watched him with an almost clinical detachment.

With a strangled cry, Robert toppled back onto the cobblestones, his arms and legs threshing violently. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to foam at the mouth as his convulsions became more violent. He began to bang his head on the stones, and his twitching fingers clutched at his throat.

"Amazing potency," the third mantled man said to Haddock. "Where did you find it?"

"A friend of mine recently made a voyage to Echelon," Haddock said, watching Robert’s convulsions with interest. "The beautiful part of it is that it's completely harmless unless one gets excited. Robert wouldn't drink the wine until I tasted it first to prove that it was safe."

"You've got the same poison in your own stomach?" the other man asked with astonishment.

"I'm quite safe," Haddock said. "My emotions never get the best of me."

Robert’s convulsions had grown weaker. His heels beat at the stones with a rapid pattering sound; then he stiffened, gave a long, gurgling sigh, and died.

"I don't suppose you've got any of the drug left, do you?" Haddock's friend asked thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to pay quite a bit for something like that."

Haddock laughed. "Why don't we go to my house, and we'll talk about it? Over a cup of wine, perhaps?"

The other man threw him a startled glance; then he laughed too, although a bit nervously. The two of them turned and walked away, leaving the dead man sprawled on the stones.

 

Steven stared in horror at them and then at the black-faced corpse lying so grotesquely twisted in the center of the marketplace. The Shwareans near the body seemed to ignore its existence. 

"Why doesn't somebody  **_do_ ** something?" he demanded.

"They're afraid," V said. "If they show any concern, they might be mistaken for partisans. Politics here in Tol Maheshwar are taken very seriously."

"Shouldn't someone notify the authorities?" Bismuth suggested, his face pale and his voice shaking.

"I'm sure it's already been taken care of," V said. "Let's not stand around staring. I don't think we want to get involved in this sort of thing."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Aunt Pearl came back to where they were standing. The two Wy-Atian warriors from Smiley’s house who had been accompanying her were loaded down with bundles and both of them looked a little sheepish about it.

"What are you doing?" she asked V.

"We were just watching a bit of Shwarean politics in action," V said, pointing at the dead man in the center of the square.

"Poison?" she asked casually, noting Robert’s contorted limbs.

V nodded. "A strange one. It doesn't seem to work unless the victim gets excited."

"Athelas," she said with a grim nod.

"You've heard of it before?" V seemed surprised.

She nodded. "It's quite rare, and very expensive. It takes a very long time to grow and takes about as long as the gems themselves to make. I didn't think the Olivines would be willing to sell any of it."

"I think we should move away from here," Ruby suggested. "There's a squad of legionnaires coming, and they might want to question any witnesses."

"Good idea," V said and hastily led them toward the far side of the marketplace.

 

Near the row of houses that marked the edge of the square, eight burly men carried a heavily veiled litter. As the litter approached, a slender, jeweled hand reached languidly out from behind the veil and touched one of the porters on the shoulder. The eight men stopped immediately and set the litter down.

 

"Viddy," a woman's voice called from within the litter, "what are you doing back in Tol Maheshwaran?"

"Jenny?" V said. "Is that you?"

The veil was drawn back, revealing a lushly endowed woman lounging on crimson satin cushions inside the litter. Her dark hair was elaborately curled with strings of pearls woven into her tresses. Her pink silken gown clung to her body, and golden rings and bracelets clasped her arms and fingers. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, and her long-lashed eyes were wicked. There was about her a kind of overripeness and an almost overpowering sense of self indulgent corruption. 

For some reason Steven felt himself blushing furiously.

"I thought you'd still be running," she said archly to V. "The men I sent after you were very professional."

V bowed with an ironic little flourish. 

"They  **_were_ ** ," she agreed with a wry grin. "Not quite good enough, but very good, actually. I hope you didn't need them anymore."

"I always wondered why they didn't come back." She laughed. "I should have known, of course. I hope you didn't take it personally."

"Certainly not, J. It's just part of the profession, after all."

"I knew you'd understand," she said. "I had to get rid of you. You were disrupting my entire plan."

V grinned wickedly. 

"I know," she gloated. "And after all you had to go through to set it up - and with the Drakan ambassador, no less."

She made a disgusted face.

"Ooh. I’m guessing you and him aren’t really the best of pals anymore huh?" V asked.

"He went swimming in the Granges."

"I didn't know that Drakans swam all that well."

"They don't - particularly not with large rocks tied to their feet. After you'd destroyed the whole thing, I didn't really need him anymore, and there were some things I didn't want him mentioning in certain quarters."

"You always did like to keep it easy, Jenny."

"What are you up to now?" she asked curiously.

V shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that."

"The succession?"

"Oh, no." She laughed. "I know better than to get involved in that. Which side are you on?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

V looked around, her eyes narrowing. "I could use some information, Jenny - if you're free to talk about it, of course."

"About what, Vi?"

"The city seems to be awash with Isyaki," V said. "If you're not presently involved with them, I'd appreciate anything you could tell me."

She smiled at him archly. "And what would you be willing to pay?" she asked.

"Couldn't we just call it professional courtesy?"

She smiled wickedly at her; then she laughed. "Why not? I like you, Vidalia, and I think I'll like you even more if you owe me a favor."

"I'll be your slave," she promised slyly.

" **_Liar_ ** ." She thought for a moment. "The Isyaki have never really shown all that much interest in trade," she said. "But a few years ago they began arriving in twos and threes; and then late last summer, whole caravans started coming in from Fy Isyak."

"You think they want to influence the succession?" V asked.

"That would be my guess," she said. "There's a great deal of red gold in Tol Maheshwaran suddenly. My coin chests are  **_full_ ** of it."

V grinned. "It all spends."

"It sure does."

"Have they picked any one candidate?"

"Not that I've been able to determine. They seem to be divided into two different factions, and there's quite a bit of antagonism between them."

"That could be a ruse, of course."

"I don't think so. I think the antagonism has to do with the quarrel between Andy and Aquamarine. Each side wants to get control of the next Emperor. They're spending money like water."

"Do you know the one called Rohk?"

"Ah, that one," she replied. "The other Isyaki are all afraid of him. At the moment he seems to be working for Aqua, but I think he's playing some game of his own. He owns the Grand Duke Kevin outright, and Kevin’s closest to the throne right now. That puts Rohk in a very powerful position. That's about all I really know."

"Thank you, Jenny," Vidalia said respectfully.

"Are you planning to stay in Tol Maheshwaran for long?" she asked.

"Unfortunately no."

"Pity. I was hoping you might be able to come by for a visit. We could talk over old times. I don't have many close friends anymore - or dear enemies, like you."

Vidalia laughed dryly. "I wonder why," he said. "I don't imagine I could swim much better than the Drakan ambassador did. You're a dangerous woman, Jenny."

"In more ways than one," she admitted, stretching languidly. "But your life's not really in any danger from me, V - not anymore."

"It wasn't my life I was worried about." V grinned.

"That's another matter, of course," she admitted. "Don't forget that you owe me a favor."

"I hunger for the opportunity to repay my debt," she said impudently.

"You're impossible." She laughed, then gestured to her porters, and they lifted her litter to their shoulders. 

"Good-bye, V," she said.

"Good-bye, J," he replied with a deep bow.

 

"Absolutely disgusting," Bismuth said in a voice strangled with outrage as the porters marched away with the litter. "Why is a woman like that even permitted to stay in the city?"

"Jenny?" Vidalia asked in surprise. "She's the most brilliant and fascinating woman in Tol Maheshwar. Men come from all over the world just for an hour or two with her."

"For a price, of course," Bismuth said.

"Don't misunderstand her, Bismuth," V told him. "Her conversation's probably more valuable than-" She coughed slightly with a quick glance at Aunt Pearl.

"Really?" Bismuth questioned in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

V laughed. "Oh Bismuth," she said, "You’re adorable, but you're a terrible prude, do you know that?"

"Leave him alone, Vidalia," Aunt Pearl said firmly. "I like him  **_exactly_ ** the way he is."

"I'm only trying to improve him, Lady Polina," V explained innocently.

"I don’t often say this, but Amy was right about you, Princess Vidalia," she said. "You're impossible."

"It's all in the line of duty. I sacrifice my more delicate feelings for the sake of my country."

"Naturally."

"Surely you don't imagine that I enjoy that sort of thing?"

"Why don't we just let it drop?" she suggested.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Smiley, Amethyst, and Mister Wolf returned to Smiley’s house not long after the others had arrived.

"Well?" Aunt Pearl asked Wolf as the old man came into the room where they had been waiting.

"He went south," Wolf said.

"South? He didn't turn east toward Sivu Isyak?"

"No," Wolf said. "He's probably trying to avoid a meeting with Aquamarine’s people. He'll look for a quiet place to slip across the border. Either that or he's headed for Olivia. Perhaps he's made some arrangement with Olly Green. We'll have to follow him to find out."

"I met an old friend in the marketplace," V said from the chair in which he lounged. "She tells me that Rohk’s been involved in the politics of succession. It appears that he's managed to buy the Grand Duke of Tjinder. If the Tjinderians get the throne, Rohk’s going to have Shwar in the palm of his hand."

Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "We're going to have to do something about him sooner or later. He's beginning to make me just a little tired."

"We could stop over for a day or so," Aunt Pearl suggested. "Attend to it once and for all."

"No," Wolf decided. "It's probably best not to do that sort of thing here in the city. The business is likely to be a bit noisy, and Shwareans get excited about things they can't understand. I'm sure he'll give us an opportunity later - in some less-populated place."

"Do we leave now, then?" V asked.

"Let's wait until early morning," Wolf told him. "We'll probably be followed, but if the streets are empty, it will make things a little more difficult for them."

"I'll talk to my cook, then," Smiley said. "The least I can do is send you on your way with a good meal to help you face the road. Then, of course, there's still that barrel of ale to be dealt with."

 

Mister Wolf smiled broadly at that, then caught Aunt Pearl's reproving frown. 

 

"Come on, Pearl," he explained. "I haven’t had a good drink since we first got here, and it’d be a shame to waste good ale, wouldn’t it?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to kill Rohk before this arc is done.


	19. The No Home Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship hit the road again. As does their newest member, though she isn't quite as experienced or as worldly as they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connie's a princess. I can't bring myself to characterise her in the demure, bashful way that the show did. It's exceedingly rare for a person who grew up bathed in opulence and eminence to have any real self-awareness of how lucky they are to be born into such a position and to be humble about it when they have no real interaction with people, aside from nobility and royalty, which in turn make her even more snobbish.

**THEY LEFT SMILEY'S HOUSE** before dawn the next morning, dressed once more in their traveling clothes. They slipped quietly out a back gate and proceeded through those narrow alleys and back streets V always seemed to be able to find. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten when they reached the massive bronze gate on the south end of the island.

 

"How long until the gate opens?" Mister Wolf asked one of the legionnaires.

"Not much longer," the legionnaire told him. "Just as soon as we can see the far bank clearly."

 

Wolf grunted. He had become quite mellow the evening before and he was obviously plagued by a headache this morning. He dismounted, went to one of the pack-horses, and drank from a leather waterskin.

"That isn't going to help, you know," Aunt Pearl told him a bit smugly. He responded by taking longer swigs.

"I think it's going to be a lovely day today," she smiled brightly, looking first at the sky and then at the men around her who slumped in their saddles in attitudes of miserable dejection.

“You’re an evil woman, P," Amethyst grumbled while rubbing her temples.

"Did you talk to Smiley about that ship?" Mister Wolf asked.

"I think so," Amy replied. "I seem to remember saying something about it."

"It's fairly important," Wolf said.

"What's this?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"I thought it might not be a bad idea to have a ship waiting off the mouth of the River of the Woods," Wolf said. "If we have to go to Echelon, it would probably be better to sail there rather than wade through the swamps in northern Olivia."

"That's a very good idea, actually," she approved. "I'm surprised it occurred to you - considering your condition last night."

"Oh, stars, Pearl, can we  **_please_ ** drop this already?" he asked somewhat plaintively.

 

It grew imperceptibly lighter, and the command to open the gate came from the watchtower on the wall above. The legionnaires slipped the iron bar and swung the ponderous gate open. With Jasper at her side, V led them out through the thick portal and across the bridge that spanned the dark waters of the Granges.

 

By noon they were eight leagues south of Tol Maheshwar, and Mister Wolf had somewhat regained his composure, though his eyes still seemed a bit sensitive to the bright spring sunlight, and he winced now and then when a bird sang a bit too near.

 

"Riders on the road behind us," Ruby said.

"How many?" Amy asked.

"Two."

"Ordinary travelers, perhaps," Aunt Pearl said.

 

The two figures on horseback appeared from around a bend behind them and stopped. They spoke together for a moment or two and then came on, their bearing somewhat cautious. 

They were a peculiar pair. The man wore a green Shwarean mantle, a garment not really suited for riding. His forehead was quite high, and his hair was carefully combed to conceal his encroaching baldness. He was very skinny, and his ears stuck out from the side of his head like flaps. His companion appeared to be a child dressed in a hooded traveling cloak and with a kerchief across her face to keep out the dust.

 

"Good day to you," the skinny man greeted them politely as the pair drew alongside.

"Hello there," V returned.

"Warm for so early in the year, isn't it?" the Shwarean said.

"So it is" V agreed.

"I wonder," the skinny man asked, "do you have a bit of water you could spare?"

"Of course," V said. 

She looked at Steven and gestured toward the pack animals. Steven dropped back and unhooked a leather waterskin from one of the packs. The stranger removed the wooden stopper and carefully wiped the mouth of the skin. He offered the bag to his companion. She removed her handkerchief and looked at the skin with an expression of perplexity.

"Like this, your-uh-my Lady," the man explained, taking the skin back, raising it in both hands and drinking.

"Oh. I… I see," the girl said.

Steven looked at her more closely. The voice was familiar for some reason, and there was something about her face. 

She was not a child, though she was very small, and there was a kind of unworldly naivete about her tiny face. Steven was almost certain he had seen her somewhere before.

 

The Shwarean handed the waterskin back to her, and she drank, making a small face at the resinous taste. Her hair was a purplish black, but there were faint dark smears on the collar of her traveling cloak that indicated that the colour was not natural.

"Thank you, Jeeves," she said after she had drunk. "And thank you, ma’am," she said to V.

Steven's eyes narrowed as a dreadful suspicion began to grow in his mind.

"Are you going far?" the skinny man asked V.

"Quite a ways," V answered. "I'm Anna of Wal’kofte, a Q’zarnian merchant, and I'm bound to the south with Delmarvian woolens. This break in the weather destroyed the market in Tol Maheshwar, so I thought I'd try Tol Corale. It's in the mountains, and it's probably still cold there."

"You're taking the wrong road, then," the stranger said. "The road to Tol Corale lies off to the east."

"I've had trouble on that road," V said glibly. "Robbers, you know. I thought it'd be safer to go through Tol Harith."

"What a coincidence," the skinny man told him. "My pupil and I are bound for Tol Harith ourselves."

"Yes," V admitted. "Quite a coincidence."

"Perhaps we could ride along together."

V looked doubtful.

"I don't see any reason why not," Aunt Pearl decided before he could refuse.

"You're most kind, gracious lady," the stranger said. "I am Master Jeeves, Fellow of the Imperial Society, a tutor by profession. Perhaps you've heard of me."

"I can't really say so," V told him, "although that's not too remarkable, since we're strangers here in Shwar."

Jeeves looked a bit disappointed. "I suppose that's true," he said. "This is my pupil, Lady Shantelle. Her father's a grand master merchant, the Baron Regis. I'm accompanying her to Tol Harith where she's to visit relatives."

Steven knew that was a lie. The tutor's name had confirmed his suspicions.

 

They rode several miles further, with Jeeves babbling animatedly at V. He spoke endlessly about his learning and continually prefaced his remarks with references to important people who seemed to rely on his judgment. Although he was tiresome, he appeared to be quite harmless. His pupil rode beside Aunt Pearl, saying very little.

"I think it's time we stopped for a bite to eat," Aunt Pearl announced. "Would you and your pupil care to join us, Master Jeeves? We have plenty."

"I'm quite overcome by your generosity," the tutor said. "We'd be delighted."

They stopped the horses near a small bridge that crossed a brook and led them into the shade of a thick clump of willows not far from the road. Bismuth built a fire, and Aunt Pearl began to unload her pots and kettles.

 

Master Jeeves' pupil sat in her saddle until the tutor quickly stepped over to help her down. She looked at the slightly marshy ground near the brook unenthusiastically. 

Then she glanced somewhat imperiously at Steven. 

"You there,  **_boy_ ** ," she called. "Fetch me a cup of fresh water."

"Huh? But the brook's right there," he told her, pointing.

She stared at him in amazement. "But the ground's all  **_muddy_ ** ," she objected.

"Hmmm, I suppose it is," he admitted and then quite deliberately turned his back on her and went over to help his Aunt.

"Aunt Pearl," he said after several moments of debating with himself.

"Yes, dear?"

"I don't think the Lady Shantelle’s who she says she is."

"Oh?"

"I'm not completely positive, but I think she's the Princess Connie-the one who came into the garden when we were at the palace."

"Yes, Steven dear, I know."

" **_You know?_ ** "

"Of course. Would you hand me the salt, please?"

"Isn't it dangerous to have her with us?"

"Not really," she said. "I think we can manage it."

"Won't she be a lot of bother?"

"An Imperial Princess is  **_supposed_ ** to be a lot of bother, dear." 

 

After they had eaten a savory stew which to Steven tasted quite good but which their little guest appeared to find distasteful, Jeeves began to approach a subject which had obviously been on his mind since they had first met. 

"Despite the best efforts of the legions, the roads are never entirely safe," the fussy man said. "It's imprudent to travel alone, and the Lady Shantelle’s been entrusted to my care. Since I'm responsible for her safety, I was wondering if we might travel along with you. We wouldn't be any bother, and I'd be more than happy to pay for whatever food we eat."

V glanced quickly at Aunt Pearl.

"Of course," she said.

V cocked an eyebrow.

"There's no reason we can't travel together," she went on. "We're all going to the same place, after all."

V shrugged. "Anything you say."

 

Steven knew the idea was a mistake so serious that it bordered on disaster. Jeeves would not be a good traveling companion, and his pupil showed every sign that she was very quickly going to become insufferable. She was obviously accustomed to extensive personal service, and her demands were probably made without thought. 

They were still demands, however, and Steven knew immediately who was most likely to be expected to attend to them. He got up and walked around to the far side of the clump of willows.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The fields beyond the trees were pale green in the spring sunshine, and small white clouds drifted lazily across the sky. 

Steven leaned against a tree and gazed out at the fields without actually seeing them. He would not become a servant - no matter who their little guest might be. He wished there were some way he could get that firmly established right at the outset - before things got out of hand.

 

" **_Have you lost your senses_ ** , Pearl?" he heard Mister Wolf say somewhere behind him among the trees. "Doug Maheshwaran’s probably got every legion in Shwarlooking for her by now."

"This is my province, Old Wolf," Aunt Pearl told him. "Don't interfere. I can manage things so that we won't be bothered by the legions."

"We don't have the time to  **_coddle_ ** her," the old man said. "I'm sorry, Pearl, but the child's going to be an absolute little  **_monster_ ** . You saw the way she acted toward her father."

"It's no great chore to break bad habits," she said, unconcerned.

"Wouldn't it be simpler just to arrange to have her taken back to Tol Maheshwar?"

"She's already run away once," Aunt Pearl answered. "If we send her back, she'll just run away again. I'll feel much more comfortable having her Imperial little Highness where I can put my hands on her when I need her. When the proper time comes, I don't want to have to take the world apart looking for her."

Wolf sighed. "Have it your way, Pearl."

"Naturally."

"Just keep the brat away from me," he said. "She sets my teeth on edge. Do any of the others know who she is?"

"Steven does."

" **_Steven_ ** ? That's surprising."

"Not really," Aunt Pearl said. "He's brighter than he looks."

 

A new emotion began to grow in Steven's already confused mind. Aunt Pearl's obvious interest in Connie sent a sharp pang of emotion through him. With a certain amount of shame, he realized that he was jealous of the attention the girl was receiving.

 

\--------------------------

 

In the days that followed, Steven's fears quickly proved to be well founded. An inadvertent remark about Alger's farm had revealed quite early to the princess his former status as a scullery-boy, and she used the knowledge heartlessly to browbeat him into a hundred stupid little errands every day. 

To make it all worse, each time he tried to resist, Aunt Pearl would firmly remind him to pay more attention to his manners. Inevitably, he became quite surly about the whole business.

The princess developed a story about the reason for her departure from Tol Maheshwar as they rode south. The story changed daily, growing more wildly implausible with every passing league. 

 

At first she seemed content to be on a simple excursion to visit relatives; then she dropped dark hints about flight from a marriage to an ugly old merchant. Next, there were even  **_darker_ ** hints about a plot to capture her and hold her for ransom. 

Finally, in a crowning effort, she confided to them that the proposed kidnapping was politically motivated - a part of some vast scheme to gain power in Shwar.

 

"She's an awful liar, isn't she?" Steven asked Aunt Pearl when they were alone one evening.

"Yes, dear," Aunt Pearl agreed. "Lying is an art. A good lie shouldn't be embellished so much. She'll need a lot more practice if she plans to make a career of it."

Finally, about ten days after they had left Tol Maheshwar, the city of Tol Harith came into sight in the afternoon sun.

"It looks like this is where we part company," V said to Jeeves with a certain amount of relief.

"Aren't you going into the city?" Jeeves asked.

"I don't think so," V answered. "We don't really have any business to take care of there, and the usual explanations and searches just waste time-not to mention the expense of the bribes. We'll go around Tol Harith and pick up the road to Tol Corale on the other side."

"We can ride a bit farther with you then," Connie said quickly. "My relatives live on an estate to the south of the city."

Jeeves stared at her in amazement.

Aunt Pearl drew in her horse and looked at the small girl with a raised eyebrow. "This seems like as good a place as any for us to have a little talk," she said.

V looked quickly at her and then nodded.

"I believe, little lady," Aunt Pearl told the girl when they had all dismounted, "that the time has come for you to tell us the truth."

"But I have," Connie protested.

"Oh, come now, child," Aunt Pearl said. "Those stories of yours have been  **_very_ ** entertaining, but you don't actually think anyone believed them, do you? Some of us already know who you are, but I really think we should get it out in the open."

"Y-You do?" Connie faltered.

"Of course, dear," Aunt Pearl said. "Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"

Connie's little shoulders drooped. "Tell them who I am, Master Jeeves," she sighed quietly.

"Do you really think that's wise, your Ladyship?" Jeeves asked nervously.

"They already know anyway," she said. "If they were going to do anything to us, they'd have done it a long time ago. We can trust them."

Jeeves drew in a deep breath and then spoke rather formally. "I have the honor to introduce her Imperial Highness, the Princess Connie Maheshwaran, daughter to his Imperial Majesty, Douglas Maheshwaran XIV, and the jewel of the House of Maheshwaran."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

V whistled, and her eyes widening momentarily. The others showed similar signs of amazement.

"The political situation in Tol Maheshwar had become far too volatile, too menacing, for her Highness to remain safely in the capital," Jeeves went on. "The Emperor commissioned me to convey his daughter secretly here to Tol Harith where the members of the Maheshwaran family can protect her from the plots and machinations of the Tjinderians, the Hariths, and the Morganites. I'm proud to say that I've managed to execute my commission rather brilliantly - with your help, of course. I'll mention your assistance in my report - a footnote, perhaps, or maybe even an appendix."

 

Amethyst pulled at her mane, her eyes thoughtful. "Hang on, so you’re telling me that an Imperial Princess, daughter of the Emperor himself, travels across half the country with only a  **_schoolmaster_ ** for protection?" she questioned. "And Doug knows about this?"

"It does seem a little risky, doesn't it?" Ruby agreed.

"Did the Emperor give you this task in person?" Jasper asked Jeeves.

"It wasn't necessary," Jeeves said stiffly, "His Highness has a great deal of respect for my judgment and discretion. He knew that I'd be able to devise a safe disguise and a secure mode of travel. The princess assured me of his absolute confidence in me. It all had to be done in  **_utmost secrecy_ ** , of course. That's why she came to my chambers in the middle of the night to advise me of his instructions and why we left the palace without telling anyone what we were--" His voice trailed off, and he stared at Connie in horror.

"You might as well tell him the truth, dear," Aunt Pearl advised the little princess. "I think he's guessed already."

Connie's chin lifted arrogantly. "The orders came from me, Jeeves," she told him. "My father had nothing to do with it." Jeeves went deathly pale and he nearly collapsed.

"What idiocy made you decide to run away from your father's palace?" Amethyst demanded of the tiny girl. "All Shwar’s probably looking for you, and we're caught right in the middle."

"Gently," Wolf said to the hulking gem. "She may be a princess, but she's still a little girl. Don't frighten her."

"The question's to the point, though," Ruby observed. "If we're caught with an Imperial Princess in our company, we'll all see the inside of a Shwarean dungeon." She turned to Connie, her expression piercing. "Do you have an answer, or were you just playing games?"

She drew herself up haughtily, though by her tone she was obviously struggling to keep her composure. "I-I’m n-not accustomed to explaining my actions to servants."

"We're going to have to clear up a few misconceptions before long, I see," Wolf said.

"Just answer the question, dear," Aunt Pearl told the girl. "Never mind who asked it."

"My father had imprisoned me in the palace," Connie said in a rather lamely, as if that explained everything. "It was intolerable, so I left. There's another matter, too, but that's a matter of politics. You wouldn't understand."

"You'd probably be surprised at what we'd understand, Connie," Mister Wolf told her.

"I'm accustomed to being addressed as  **_my Lady_ ** ," she said tartly, "or as  **_your Highness_ ** ."

"And  **_I'm_ ** accustomed to being told the truth."

"I thought you were in charge," Connie said to V.

"Funny, I thought I was too," V observed blandly. "Funny how deceiving appearances can be."

"It's an old treaty," she said. "I didn't sign it, so I don't see why I should be bound by it. I'm supposed to present myself in the throne room at Hrodenheim on my sixteenth birthday."

"Yeah, we know," Amethyst said impatiently. "What's the problem?"

"I'm not going, that's all," Connie announced. "I won't go to Hrodenheim, and no one can make me go. My mother is Queen in the Wood of the Dryads and she'll give me sanctuary."

Jeeves had partially recovered. "What have you done?" he demanded, aghast. "I undertook this with the clear understanding that I'd be rewarded - even promoted. You've put my head on the block, you little liar!"

" **_Jeeves_ ** !" she cried, shocked at his words.

"Let's get off the road a ways," V suggested. "We've obviously got quite a bit to discuss, and we're likely to be interrupted here on the main highway."

"Probably a good idea," Wolf agreed. "Let's find some quiet place and set up for the night. We'll decide what we're going to do and then we can start out fresh in the morning."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They remounted and rode across the rolling fields toward a line of trees that marked the course of a winding country lane about a mile away.

 

"How about there?" Bismuth suggested, pointing at a broad oak which stood beside the lane, its branches beginning to leaf out in the late afternoon sunlight.

"That should do," Wolf said.

It was pleasant in the dappled shade beneath the spreading limbs of the oak. The lane was lined with low stone walls, mossy and cool. A stile stepped up over one of the walls just there, and a path meandered across the field from it toward a nearby pond, sparkling in the sun.

"We can put the fire down behind one of the walls," Bismuth said. "It won't be seen from the main road that way."

"I'll get some wood," Steven volunteered, looking at the dead limbs littering the grass beneath the tree.

They had by now established a sort of routine in the setting up of a night's encampment. The tents were erected, the horses watered and picketed, and the fire was started all within the space of an hour. 

Then Bismuth, who had noticed a few telltale circles on the surface of the pond, heated an iron pin in the fire and carefully hammered it into a hook.

"What's that for?" Steven asked him.

"I thought some fish might be good for supper," the smith said, wiping the hook on the skirt of his leather tunic. He laid it aside then and lifted a second pin out of the fire with a pair of tongs. "Would you like to try your luck too?"

Steven grinned at him.

Amethyst, who sat nearby combing the snarls out of her chest hair, looked up rather wistfully. "I don't suppose you'd have time to make another hook, would you?" he asked.

Bismuth chuckled. "It only takes a couple minutes."

"We'll need bait," Amy said, getting up quickly. "Where's your spade?"

 

\------------------------

 

Not long afterward, the three of them crossed the field to the pond, cut some saplings for poles and settled down to serious fishing.

The fish, it appeared, were ravenous and attacked the worm-baited hooks in schools. 

Within the space of an hour nearly two dozen respectable-sized trout lay in a gleaming row on the grassy bank of the pond.

Aunt Pearl inspected their catch gravely when they returned as the sky turned rosy overhead with the setting of the sun. "Very nice," she told them, "but you forgot to clean them."

"Oh," Amethyst said. She looked slightly pained. "We thought that well, what I mean is - as long as we caught them you’d..." She left it hanging.

"Go on," she said with a level gaze.

Amethyst sighed. "I guess we'd better clean them," she regretfully told Bismuth and Steven.

"You're probably right," Bismuth agreed.

 

The sky had turned purple with evening, and the stars had begun to come out when they sat down to eat. Aunt Pearl had fried the trout to a crisp, golden brown, and even the sulky little princess found nothing to complain about as she ate.

After they had finished, they set aside their plates and took up the problem of Connie and her flight from Tol Maheshwar. 

Jeeves had sunk into such abject melancholy that he could offer little to the discussion, and Connie adamantly announced that even if they were to turn her over to the Maheshwarans in the city, she would run away again. In the end, they reached no conclusion.

 

"We're in trouble no matter what we do," V summed it all up ruefully. "Even if we try to deliver her to her family, there are bound to be some embarrassing questions, and I'm sure she can be counted on to invent a colourful story that will put us in the worst possible light."

"We can talk about it some more in the morning," Aunt Pearl said. Her placid tone indicated that she had already made up her mind about something, but she did not elaborate.

 

Shortly before midnight, Jeeves made his escape. They were all awakened by the thudding of his horse's hooves as the panic-stricken tutor fled at a gallop toward the walls of Tol Maheshwar.

V stood in the flickering light of the dying fire, her face angry. 

"Why didn't you  **_stop_ ** him?" she demanded of Ruby, who had been standing watch.

"I was told not to," the leather-clad gem shrugged with a glance at Aunt Pearl.

"It solves the only real problem we had," Aunt Pearl explained. "The schoolmaster would only have been excess baggage."

"You knew he was going to run away?" V asked.

"Naturally. I helped him to arrive at the decision. He'll go straight to the Maheshwarans and try to save his own skin by informing them that the princess ran away from the palace on her own and that we have her now."

"You have to stop him then!" Connie said in a ringing voice. "Go after him! Bring him back!"

"After all the trouble I went to persuading him to leave?" Aunt Pearl asked. "Don't be foolish."

"How  **_dare_ ** you speak to me like that?" Connie demanded. "I’m the  **_Imperial Princess of Shwar!_ ** "

"Young lady," V said urbanely, "I think you'd be amazed at how little Polina’s concerned about who you are."

"Polina?" Connie faltered. " **_The_ ** Polina? I thought you said that she was your sister."

"You know," V chuckled, amused at her bewilderment. "For a girl who lies a lot, you sure are gullible."

"You're not an ordinary merchant," the girl accused him.

"She's Princess Vidalia of Q’zarnia," Aunt Pearl said. "The others have a similar eminence. I'm sure you can see how little your title impresses us. We have our own titles, so we know how empty they are."

"If you're Polina, then he must be-" The princess turned to stare at Mister Wolf, who had seated himself on the lowest step of the stile to pull on his shoes.

"Yes," Aunt Pearl said. "He doesn't really look the part, does he?"

"What are you doing in Shwar?" Connie asked in an awed voice. "Are you going to use magic of some kind to control the outcome of the succession?"

"Why should we?" Mister Wolf said, getting to his feet. "Shwareans always seem to think that their politics shake the whole world, but the rest of the world's really not all that concerned about who gains the throne in Tol Maheshwar. We're here on a matter of much greater urgency." 

He looked off into the darkness in the direction of Tol Harith. "It will take Jeeves a certain amount of time to convince the people in the city that he's not a lunatic," he said, "but it would probably be a good idea if we left the area. I imagine we'd better stay away from the main highway."

"That's no problem," V assured him.

"What about me?" Connie asked.

"You wanted to go to the Wood of the Dryads," Aunt Pearl told her. "We're going in that direction anyway, so you'll stay with us. We'll see what Queen Priyanka says when we get you there."

"Am I to consider myself a prisoner then?" the princess asked stiffly.

"You can if it makes you feel better, dear," Aunt Pearl said. She looked at the tiny girl critically in the flickering firelight. "I'm going to have to do something about your hair, though. What did you use for dye? It looks awful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most I could do was to at least give her the quality of being ashamed of making mistakes, a quality which canon Connie possesses when she goes behind her parents' back in the things that she does. She's a terrible liar, so at least that's something of a redeeming quality.


	20. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way through the Wood of the Dryads, the team finally catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real action here. Just some nice alone time between Connie and Steven.

**THEY MOVED RAPIDLY SOUTH** for the next few days, traveling frequently at night to avoid the mounted patrols of legionnaires who were beating the countryside in their efforts to locate Connie.

 

"Maybe we should’ve hung on to Jeeves," Amethyst muttered sourly after one near-brush with the soldiers. "He's snitched on us from every garrison from here to the border. It might have been better to have dropped him off on some island in south Shwar or something."

"’ **_Or something_ ** ’ huh?," V said, giggling. “Is that your answer to  **_every_ ** problem, Amy?”

Amethyst shrugged. "I mean, if it gets the job done..."

V laughed merrily. "You really shouldn’t let your whip do all your thinking for you. That's the one quality we find least attractive in our Wy-Atian cousins."

"Ahhh, so you  **_do_ ** find me attractive then. Thanks for the compliment, V,” Amethyst said smugly, making a show of flipping her hair back.

Vidalia scoffed in reply.

 

They rode on, watchful, always ready to hide or to run. During those days they relied heavily on Ruby’s curious ability. Since the patrols searching for them were inevitably mounted, the tall, cherubic-faced Ainur swept their surroundings with her mind, searching for horses. The warnings she could thus provide usually gave them sufficient notice of the approach of the patrols.

 

"What's it like?" Steven asked her one cloudy midmorning as they rode along a seldom-used and weed-grown track to which V had led them. "I mean being able to hear a horse's thoughts?"

"I don't think I can describe it exactly," Ruby answered almost bashfully. "I've always been able to do it, so I can't imagine what it's like not doing it. There's a kind of reaching-out in a horse's mind - a sort of inclusiveness. A horse seems to think 'we' instead of 'I'. I suppose it's because in their natural condition they're members of a herd. After they get to know you, they think of you as a herd mate. Sometimes they even forget that you're not a horse!" She broke off suddenly. "Greg," she announced sharply, "there's another patrol coming just beyond that hill over there. Twenty or thirty of them."

Mister Wolf looked about quickly. "Have we got time to reach those trees?" He pointed at a thick stand of scrub maple about a half mile ahead.

"If we hurry."

"Then run!" Wolf ordered, and they all kicked their horses into a sudden burst of speed. They reached the trees just as the first few raindrops of the spring shower that had been threatening all morning pattered on the broad leaves. They dismounted and pushed in among the springy saplings, worming their way back out of sight, leading their horses.

 

The Shwarean patrol came over the hilltop and swept down into the shallow valley. The captain in charge of the legionnaires pulled in his horse not far from the stand of maples and dispersed his men with a series of sharp commands. They moved out in small groups, scouting the weedy road in both directions and surveying the surrounding countryside from the top of the next rise. The officer and a civilian in a gray riding cloak remained behind, sitting their horses beside the track.

The captain squinted distastefully up into the sprinkling rain. "It's going to be a wet day," he said, dismounting and pulling his crimson cloak tighter around him.

His companion also swung down and turned so that the party hiding among the maples was able to see his face. Steven felt Ruby tense suddenly. The man in the cloak was an Isyaki.

"Over here, Captain," the Isyaki said, leading his horse into the shelter provided by the outspreading limbs of the saplings at the edge of the stand.

The Shwarean nodded and followed the man in the riding cloak. "Have you had a chance to think over my offer?" the Isyaki asked.

"I thought it was only speculation," the captain replied. "We don't even know that these foreigners are in this quadrant."

"My information is that they're going south, captain," the Isyaki told him. "I think you can be quite certain that they're somewhere in your quadrant."

"There's no guarantee that we'll find them, though," the captain said. "And even if we do, it'd be very difficult to do what you propose."

"Captain," the Isyaki explained patiently, "it's for the safety of the princess, after all. If she's returned to Tol Maheshwar, the Tjinderians are going to kill her. You've read those documents I brought you."

"She'll be safe with the Maheshwarans," the captain said. "The Tjinderians aren't going to come into Southern Shwar after her."

"The Maheshwarans are only going to turn her over to her father. You're a Maheshwaran yourself. Would you defy an Emperor of your own house?" The captain's face was troubled.

"Her only hope of safety is with the Morganites," the Isyaki pressed.

"What guarantees do I have that she'll be safe with them?"

"The best guarantee of all - politics. The Morganites are doing everything in their power to block Grand Duke Kevin on his march to the throne. Since he wants the princess dead, the Morganites naturally want to keep her alive. It's the only way really to insure her safety - and you become a wealthy man in the process." He jingled a heavy purse suggestively.

The captain still looked doubtful.

"Suppose we double the amount," the Isyaki said in a voice that almost purred.

The captain swallowed hard. "It is for her safety, isn't it?"

"Of course it is."

"It's not as if I were betraying the House of Maheshwaran."

"You're a patriot, Captain," the Isyaki assured the officer with a cold smile.

 

Aunt Pearl was holding Connie's arm in precaution as they crouched together among the trees. The tiny girl's face was outraged, and her eyes livid.

Later, after the legionnaires and their Isyaki friend had departed, the princess exploded. 

" **_How dare they?_ ** " she raged. "And for money!"

"That’s Shwarean politics for ya," V said as they led their horses out of the stand of saplings into the drizzly morning.

"But he's a Maheshwaran!" she protested, "a member of my  **_own_ ** family."

"A Shwarean's first loyalty is to his purse," V told her. "I'm surprised you haven't discovered that by now, your Highness."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A few days later they topped a hill and saw the Wood of the Dryads spreading like a green smudge on the horizon. The showers had blown off, and the sun was very bright.

"We'll be safe once we reach the Wood," the princess told them. "The legions won't follow us there."

"What's to stop them?" Steven asked her.

"The treaty between the Children of the Forest and Men, of course," she said. "Don't you know anything?"

Steven resented that.

"There's no one about," Ruby reported to Mister Wolf. "We can go now or wait for dark."

"Let's make a run for it," Wolf said. "I'm getting tired of dodging patrols." 

 

They started down the hill at a gallop toward the forest lying ahead of them.

There seemed to be none of the usual brushy margin which usually marked the transition from fields to woodlands. The trees simply began. When Wolf led them beneath those trees, the change was as abrupt as if they had suddenly gone inside a house. 

 

The Wood itself was a forest of incredible antiquity. The great oaks spread so broadly that the sky was almost never visible. The forest floor was mossy and cool, and there was very little undergrowth. It seemed to Steven that they were all quite tiny under the vast trees, and there was a strange, hushed quality about the wood. The air was very still, and there was a hum of insects and, from far overhead, a chorus of birdsong.

 

"Strange," Bismuth said, looking around, "I don't see any sign of woodcutters."

"Woodcutters?" Connie gasped. "In here? They wouldn't  **_dare_ ** come into this wood."

"The wood is sacred ground, Bismuth," Mister Wolf explained. "The Maheshwaran family has a treaty with the Dryads. No one has touched a tree here for over three thousand years."

"This place feels… different," Jasper said, looking around a bit uncomfortably. "I feel a presence here - a presence not altogether friendly."

"The Wood is alive," Connie told him. "It doesn't really like strangers - but don't worry, Jasper, you're safe as long as you're with me." She sounded quite smug about it.

"Are you sure the patrols won't follow us?" Bismuth asked Mister Wolf. "Jeeves knew we were coming here, after all, and I'm sure he told the Maheshwarans."

"The Maheshwarans won't violate their treaty with the Dryads," Wolf assured him. "Not for any reason."

"I've never known of a treaty a Shwarean wouldn't step around if it was to his advantage." Silk spoke skeptically.

"This one is a bit different," Wolf said. "The Dryads gave one of their princesses to a young noble of the House of Maheshwar. She became the mother of the Emperor of the First Maheshwaran Dynasty. The fortunes of the Maheshwarans are very intimately tied up with the treaty. They're not going to gamble with that - not for any reason."

"What exactly is a Dryad?" Steven asked. The strange sense of a presence, an awareness in the wood, made him want to talk to cover the oppressive, watchful silence.

"Alternative creations of the Diamonds," Mister Wolf said. "Y'know, from before they settled on gems. Quite gentle. I've always liked them very much. They aren't human, of course, but that's not all that important."

“ **_Settled_ ** on gems?” asked Amethyst. 

“Oh yes,” Wolf explained. “The Diamonds are wise, but they weren't always so. It took them many tries and attempts to make what they thought was the perfect being.”

"I'm a Dryad," Connie suddenly interjected, her expression proud. 

Steven stared at her.

"Technically she's right," Wolf said. "The Dryad line seems to breed true on the female side of the House of Maheshwaran. That's one of the things that keeps the family honest about the treaty - all those wives and mothers who'd pack up and leave if it were ever broken."

"She looks human," Steven objected, still staring at the princess.

"The Dryads are so closely related to humans that the differences are hardly significant," Wolf said. "That probably explains why they didn't go mad like the other monsters did when Black cracked the world."

" **_Monsters!?"_ ** Connie protested loudly.

"Your pardon, Princess," Wolf apologized. "It's an Phenai term used to describe the non-humans who supported the Phenom at Diophe when he met with the God DIO."

"Do I  **_look_ ** like a monster to you?" she demanded, tossing her head angrily.

"A poor choice of words, perhaps," Wolf murmured. "Forgive me."

"Monsters indeed!" Connie fumed.

Wolf shrugged. "There's a stream not far ahead, if I remember right. We'll stop there and wait until word of our arrival reaches Queen Priyanka. It's not a good idea to go into the territory of the Dryads without the queen's permission. They can get quite nasty if they're provoked."

"I thought you said they were gentle," Bismuth said.

"Within reason," Wolf told him. "But it's not a good idea to irritate people who communicate with trees when you're in the middle of a forest. Unpleasant things have a way of happening." He frowned. "That reminds me. You'd better stow your axe away out of sight. Dryads have strong feelings about axes - and fires. They're reasonably unreasonable about fire. We'll have to keep our fires small and only for cooking."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

They rode in under a colossal oak beside a sparkling stream purling over mossy rocks, dismounted and set up their dun-colored tents. After they had eaten, Steven wandered around feeling bored. Mister Wolf was napping, and Silk had lured the others into a dice game. Aunt Pearl had seated the Princess on a log and was stripping the purple dye from her hair.

 

"If you don't have anything else to do, Steven," she said, "why don't you go and take a bath?"

"Bathe?" he asked. "Where?"

"I'm sure you'll find a pool somewhere along the stream," she said, carefully lathering Connie's hair.

"You want me to bathe in that water? Aren't you afraid I'll catch cold?"

"You're not nine, Steven. You're a healthy young man.” she told him, "but a very dirty one. Now go wash."

 

Steven gave her a dark look and went to one of the packs for clean clothing, soap, and a towel. Then he stamped off upstream, grumbling at every step.

 

Once he was alone under the trees, he felt even more strongly that peculiar sense of being watched. It was not anything definable. There seemed to be nothing specific about it, but rather it felt as if the oaks themselves were aware of him and were passing information about his movements among themselves with a kind of vegetative communication he could not begin to understand. 

There seemed to be no menace in it, merely a kind of watchfulness.

 

Some distance from the tents he found a fairly large pool where the stream dropped in a waterfall from the rocks above. The water in the pool was crystal clear, and he could see the bright pebbles on the bottom and several large trout that eyed him warily. He tested the water with his hand and shuddered. 

He considered subterfuge - a quick splashing of water on his body and a bit of soap on the more obvious smudges, but on reflection, he gave up the notion. Aunt Pearl would settle for nothing less than a complete bath. He sighed bitterly and began to take off his clothing.

The first shock was awful, but after a few minutes he found that he could bear it. In a short time it even became exhilarating. The waterfall provided a convenient means for rinsing off the soap, and before long he found that he was actually enjoying himself.

 

"You're making an awful lot of noise, for a simple bath," Connie said, standing on the bank and appraising him quite calmly.

Steven's frame jerked upright, his entire body stiffening at the sound of her unexpected voice. 

He immediately dove to the bottom of the pool.

Unless one was a fish, however, one could hardly remain underwater indefinitely. After about a minute, he struggled to the surface and popped his head out of the water, gasping and sputtering.

 

" **_What_ ** are you doing?" Connie asked. She was wearing a short white tunic, sleeveless and belted at the waist, and open sandals with laces that crisscrossed her slender ankles and calves and tied just below her knees. She carried a towel in one hand.

" ** _Go_** **_away_** ," Steven spluttered.

"Don't be so silly," she said, sitting down on a large stone and beginning to unlace her sandals. Her now coppery, mostly undyed hair was still damp and tumbled in a heavy mass about her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to bathe," she said. "Are you going to be much longer?"

"What? Yes! Go someplace else," Steven cried, starting to shiver, but remaining determinedly crouched over in the water with only his head sticking out.

"Why? This place looks just fine," she said. "How's the water?"

"Cold," he chattered, "but I'm not coming out until you go away."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she told him.

He shook his head stubbornly, his face flaming.

She sighed, exasperated. "Oh, very well," she said. "I won't look, but I think you're being very silly. At the baths in Tol Maheshwar, no one thinks anything at all about such things."

"This isn't Tol Maheshwar," he told her pointedly.

"I'll turn my back, if that'll make you feel better," she said, getting up and standing with her back to the pool.

 

Not entirely trusting her, Steven crept from the pool and, still dripping, jerked on his drawers and hose. "All right," he called, "you can have the pool now." He mopped at his streaming face and hair with his towel. "I'm going back to the tents."

"The Lady Polina says that you're to stay with me," she said, calmly untying the cord about her waist.

"Aunt Pearl said what?" he demanded, terribly shocked.

"You're supposed to stay with me to protect me," she told him. 

Her right hand took hold of the hem of her tunic, obviously preparing to take it off.

Steven spun about and stared determinedly at the trees. His ears suddenly felt red hot, and his hands trembled uncontrollably in balled fists at his sides.

 

She laughed a small, giggly laugh, obviously amused at his reaction. He could hear splashing as she entered the pool. She squealed from the shock of the cold water, and then there was more splashing.

"Bring me the soap," she commanded.

Without thinking, he bent to pick up the soap and caught one brief glimpse of her standing, lithe and willowy, waist-deep in the cold water. He shut his eyes tightly and backed toward the pool in measured, deliberate steps, and the hand holding the soap thrust out awkwardly behind him.

She stifled a snort and took the soap from his hand. As her hands touched his, he felt a surge of energy rush through him from the contact, only this wasn't like the familiar rush of silent sound as when Aunt Pearl or Mister Wolf had used their magic. This was something much, much different.

Then her hand departed his and she got around to finishing her bath. 

After what seemed an eternity, the princess completed her bath, emerged from the pool, dried herself and put her clothes back on. Steven kept his eyes firmly shut the entire time.

 

"You Delmarvians are so peculiar," she said as they sat together in the sun-warmed glade beside the pool. 

She was combing her deep red hair, her head inclined to one side and the comb pulling down through the thick, damp tangles. 

"The baths in Tol Maheshwar are open to all, and athletic contests are almost always conducted without clothing. Just last summer I myself ran against a dozen other girls in the Imperial Stadium. The spectators were most appreciative."

"I can imagine," Steven said dryly.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the amulet resting against his bare chest.

"My grandfather gave it to me last Festivale," Steven answered.

"Let me see." She held out her hand, flipping her fingers up and down. 

He leaned forward.

"Take it off so I can see it," she ordered.

"I'm not supposed to take it off," he told her. "Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl say I'm never supposed to take it off for any reason. I think there's a spell of some kind on it."

"What a strange idea," she remarked as she bent down to examine the amulet. Steven was suddenly aware of how close in proximity they were to each other. "They aren't really sorcerers, are they?"

"I mean, Mister Wolf is seven thousand years old," Steven said. "He knew the Grey Diamond. I've seen him make a tree grow from a small twig in a matter of minutes and set rocks on fire. Aunt Pearl cured a blind woman with a single word, and she can turn herself into an owl."

"I find that a little hard to believe, " Connie told him. "I'm sure there's another explanation."

Steven shrugged and pulled on his linen shirt and brown tunic. He shook his head and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair.

"You're making an awful mess of it," she observed critically. "Here." She stood up and stepped behind him. "Let me do it." 

She put the comb to his hair and began pulling it through carefully. "You have nice hair for boy," she said.

"It's just hair," he said indifferently.

 

\--------------------------------

 

She combed in silence for a moment or two, then took his chin in her hand, turned his head and looked at him critically. She touched his hair at the sides a time or two until it was arranged to her satisfaction. "That's better," she decided.

"Thank you." He was a bit confused by the change in her. 

Where had that insufferable princessy part of her personality gone? 

She sat down again on the grass, clasped her arms around one knee and gazed at the sparkling pool. "Steven," she said finally.

"Yes?"

"What's it like to grow up as an ordinary person?"

He shrugged. "I've never been anything but an ordinary person," he told her, "so I wouldn't know what to compare it to."

"You know what I mean. Tell me about where you grew up - and what you did and all."

So he told her about Alger’s farm, about the kitchen and Bismuth's smithy and Onion and Pinto and Elyne.

"You're in love with Elyne, aren't you?" She asked in a tone that sounded almost accusatory. 

"I thought I was, but so much has happened since we left the farm that sometimes I can't even remember what she looks like. I think I could do without being in love anyway. From what I've seen of it, it's pretty painful most of the time."

"You're impossible," she said, and then she smiled at him, her little face framed in the blazing mass of her sun-touched hair.

"Probably," he admitted. "All right, now you tell me what it's like to grow up as a very special person."

"I'm not that special."

"You're an Imperial Princess," he reminded her. "I'd call that pretty special."

"Oh,  **_that_ ** ," she said, and then giggled. "You know, sometimes since I joined you people, I almost forget that I'm an Imperial Princess."

"Almost," he said with a smile, "but not quite."

"No," she agreed, smiling still, "not quite.". She looked out across the pool again. "Most of the time being a princess is very boring. It's all ceremonies and formalities. You have to stand around most of the time listening to speeches or receiving state visitors. There are guards around all the time, but sometimes I sneak away so I can be by myself. It makes them furious." She giggled again, and then her gaze turned pensive. "Let me tell your fortune," she said, taking his hand.

"Can you tell fortunes?" Steven asked.

"It's only make-believe," she admitted. "My maids and I play at it sometimes. We all promise each other high-born husbands and many children." She turned his hand over and looked at it. The silvery mark on his palm was very plain now that the skin was clean. "Whoa, what's that?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"It's not a disease, is it?"

"No," he said. "It has always been there. I think it has something to do with my family. Aunt Pearl doesn't like to have people see it for some reason, so she tries to keep it hidden."

"How could you hide something like that?"

"She finds things for me to do that keep my hands dirty most of the time."

"How strange," she said. "I have a birthmark too - right over my heart. Would you like to see it?" She took hold of the neck of her tunic.

"I'll take your word for it," Steven said quickly, blushing furiously.

She laughed a silvery, tinkling little sound. "You're a strange boy, Steven. You're not at all like the other boys I've met."

"They were Shwareans probably," Steven pointed out. "I'm a Delmar - or at least that's the way I was raised - so there are bound to be differences."

"You sound as if you're not sure what you are."

"Vidalia says I'm not a Delmar," Steven said. "He says she isn't sure exactly what I am, and that's very odd. V can recognize anybody for what he is immediately. Your father thought I was a Hrodenite."

"Since the Lady Polina’s your Aunt and Gregarion’s your Grandfather, you're probably a sorcerer, too, huh?” Connie observed.

Steven laughed. "Me? That's silly. Besides, the sorcerers aren't a race - not like Wy-Atians or Shwareans or Hrodenites. It's more like a profession, I think - sort of like being a lawyer or a merchant - only there aren't any new ones. The sorcerers are all thousands of years old. Mister Wolf says that maybe people have changed in some way so that they can't become sorcerers anymore."

 

 

They sat there in their little arbor creek for a long time after that, reclining against mossy rocks bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. It should have been hot, unbearably so that they were in a forest, but for some reason the temperature of the ground was always comfortably warm. Steven surmised it must have been the shade.

Connie had leaned back and was resting on her elbows, looking up at him. "Steven?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to kiss me?"

Steven stiffened up for the second time that day, paralysed completely in sudden apoplexy. His heart was pounding like a trapped bird against his ribcage. 

 

Then Bismuth's voice called to them from not far away, and for one brief, flaming instant Steven hated his old friend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make it clear that I'm a gen-fixer. I don't do smut, at least, not gratuitously. I could do schmaltz, but only when it's plot relevant.
> 
> Fantasy is about character development and world-building, so I apologise right now if any relationship tags I put in future installments come up short of your expectations. There's some ships coming up in the next volume that I'll include, and if you want me to write fluff or smut, that's going to take time to learn. 
> 
> To that end, feel free to recommend good authors of that stuff if you feel like you still want fluff.


	21. The Woods Have Eyes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the swamps they shall come. Watch your step.

" **MISTRESS PEARL SAYS THAT IT'S TIME** for you to come back to the tents," Bismuth told them when he reached the glade. There was a faint hint of amusement on his plain, dependable face, and he looked knowingly at the two of them.

 

Steven blushed and then grew angry with himself for blushing. Connie, however, showed no concern at all.

 

"Have the Dryads come yet?" she asked, getting to her feet and brushing the grass from the back of her tunic.

"Not yet," Bismuth answered. "Wolf says that they should find us soon. There seems to be some kind of storm building up to the south, and Mistress Pearl thought the two of you ought to come back."

Steven glanced at the sky and saw a layer of inky clouds moving up from the south, staining the bright blue sky as they rolled ponderously northward. He frowned. "I've never seen clouds like that, have you, Bismuth?"

Bismuth looked up. "Strange," he agreed.

 

Steven rolled up the two wet towels, and they started back down the stream. Overhead, the strange, heavy dark clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun, drenching the woods quite suddenly into darkness. The sense of watchfulness was still there, that wary awareness they had all felt since they had entered the wood, but now there was something else as well. The great trees stirred uneasily, and a million tiny messages seemed to pass among the rustling leaves.

"They're afraid," Connie whispered. "Something's frightening them."

"What?" Bismuth asked.

"The trees - they… they're afraid of something. Can't you feel it?"

He stared at her in perplexity.

Far above them the birds suddenly fell silent, and an unnatural breeze began to blow, carrying with it a foul reek of stagnant water and rotting vegetation.

"What's that smell?" Steven asked, looking about nervously.

"Olivia is south of here," Connie said. "It's mostly swamps."

"Is it that close?" Steven asked.

"Not really," she said with a small frown. "It must be sixty leagues or more."

"Would a smell carry that far?"

"It's not likely," Bismuth said. "At least it wouldn't be in Delmarvia."

"How far is it to the tents?" Connie asked.

"About a half-mile," Bismuth answered.

"Maybe we should run," she suggested.

Bismuth shook his head. "The ground's uneven," he said, "and running in bad light's dangerous. We can walk a bit faster, though." They hurried on through the gathering gloom. The wind began to blow harder, and the trees trembled and bent with its force. The strange fear that seemed to permeate the wood grew stronger.

"There's something moving over there," Steven whispered urgently and pointed at the dark trees on the other side of the stream.

"I don't see anything," Connie said.

"There, just beyond the tree with the large white limb. Is that a Dryad?"

 

A vague shape slid from tree to another in the half light. There was something chillingly wrong with the figure. Connie didn’t even need to look twice before shuddering with revulsion

"It's not a Dryad," she said. "It's something alien."

Bismuth picked up a fallen limb and gripped it like a cudgel with both hands. Steven looked quickly around and saw another limb. He too armed himself.

Another figure shambled between two trees, a bit closer this time. 

"We'll have to chance it," Bismuth said grimly. "Be careful, but run. Get the others. Now go!"

Steven took Connie's hand, and they started to run along the streambank, stumbling every so often. Bismuth lagged farther and father behind, his two-handed club swinging warningly about him.

The figures were now all around them, and Steven felt the first surges of panic.

Then Connie screamed. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

One of the figures had risen from behind a low bush directly in front of them. It was large and misshapen, and, like the gem mutants they had encountered before, lacked a proper face, though it at least had recognisably human features. Two eye-holes stared vacantly as it shambled forward with its half-formed hands reaching out for them. The entire figure was a dark muddy brown color, and it was covered with rotting, stinking moss that adhered to its oozing body.

 

Without knowing why, Steven put himself between the monstrosity and Connie before leaping to the attack. The first blow of his club struck the creature solidly in the side, and the club merely sank into the body with no visible effect. One of the outstretched hands touched his face, and he recoiled from that slimy touch with revulsion. 

Desperately he swung again and struck the thing solidly on the forearm. With satisfaction, he saw the arm break off at the elbow. The creature stopped in its tracks. It turned to regard its fallen arm, then to Steven’s absolute horror, casually bent down to pick up the still-wriggling arm, re-attach it, and continue its advance as though nothing had occurred.

 

Connie screamed again, and Steven spun about. Another one of the mud-men had come up behind her and had grasped her about the waist with both arms. It was starting to turn, lifting the struggling princess from the ground when Steven swung his club with all his might. The blow was not aimed at head or back, but rather at the ankles.

The mud-man toppled backward with both of its feet broken off. Its grip about Connie's waist, however, did not loosen as it fell.

Steven jumped forward, discarding his club and drawing his dagger. The substance of the thing was surprisingly tough. Vines and dead twigs were encased in the clay which gave it its shape. Feverishly, Steven cut away one of the arms and then tried to pull the screaming princess free. The other arm still clung to her. 

Almost sweating with the need to hurry, Steven started hacking at the remaining arm.

"Look out!" Connie shrieked. "Behind you!"

Steven looked quickly over his shoulder. The first mud-man was reaching for him. He felt a cold grip about his ankle. The arm he had just severed had inched its way across the ground and grasped him.

" **_STEVEN_ ** !" Amethyst’s voice roared from a short distance off.

"Over here!" Steven shouted. "Hurry!"

 

There was a crashing in the bushes, and the great, purple-haired gem appeared, whip in hand, with Ruby and Jasper close behind. With a mighty swing, Amethyst cut off the head of the first mudman. It sailed through the air and landed with a sickening thump several yards away. The headless creature turned and groped blindly, trying to put its hands on its attacker. 

Amethyst paled visibly and then chopped away both outstretched arms. Still the thing shambled forward.

"The legs," Steven said quickly. He bent and hacked at the clay hand about his ankle.

Amethyst ripped off the mud-man's legs, and the thing fell. The dismembered pieces crawled toward her, drawing repulsed looks from the both of them.

Other mud-men had appeared, and Jasper was laying about them with their weapons, filling the air with chunks and pieces of living clay.

Ruby, seeing as her usual tactic of brutal hand-to-hand combat would likely endanger her or worse, drew Jasper’s other sword out of it’s sheath and went to work.

 

Amethyst bent and ripped away the remaining arm which held Connie.

Then she jerked the girl to her feet and thrust her at Steven. "Get her back to the tents!" she ordered. "Where's Bismuth?"

"He stayed behind to hold them off," Steven said.

"We'll go help him," Amethyst said. "Run!"

Connie was hysterical, and Steven had to half-coax, half-drag her to the tents.

"What is it?" Aunt Pearl demanded.

"Monsters out there in the woods," Steven said, pushing Connie at her. "They're made out of mud, and you can't kill them. They've got Bismuth." He dove into one of the tents and emerged a second later with his sword in his hand and fire in his brain.

"Steven!" Aunt Pearl shouted, trying to disentangle herself from the sobbing princess. "What are you doing?"

"I've got to help Bismuth," he said.

"You stay where you are."

"No!" he shouted. "Bismuth's my friend." He dashed back toward the fight, brandishing his sword.

"Steven! You come back here  **_right this instant_ ** !"

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He ignored her and ran through the dark woods.

The battle was raging about a hundred yards from the tents. Amethyst, Ruby and Jasper were systematically chopping the slime-covered mud-men into chunks, and Vidalia darted in and out of the melee, her short sword leaving great gaping holes in the thick, moss-covered monsters. Steven plunged into the fight, his ears ringing and a kind of desperate exultation surging through him.

And then Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl were there with Connie hovering ashen-faced and trembling behind them. 

 

Wolf's eyes blazed, and he seemed to tower over them all as he gathered his will. He thrust one hand forward, palm up. 

"You, will  **_BURN!_ ** " he commanded, and a sizzling bolt of lightning shot upward from his hand into the whirling clouds overhead. The earth trembled with the violence of the shattering thunderclap. Steven’s mind was reeling. He had never heard a roaring so loud in all in his life.

Aunt Pearl, not to be outdone, raised her hand. 

"Sky,  **_revolt!_ ** Pour forth thy burden!" she said in a powerful voice. The clouds burst open, and rain fell so heavily that it seemed that the droplets combined to look and feel like one singular river of water, gushing down from the heavens. Indeed, even the air, thick with vapour, seemed to congeal into liquid to assist in the deluge.

 

The mud-men, still mindlessly stumbling forward, began to ooze and dissolve in the thundering downpour. With a kind of sick fascination, Steven watched them disintegrate into sodden lumps of slime and rotten vegetation, surging and heaving as the pounding rain destroyed them.

Amy reached forward with the butt of her dripping whip and tentatively poked at the shapeless lump of clay that had been the head of one of their attackers. The lump broke apart, and a coiled snake unwound from its center. It quickly struck, sinking it’s fangs into Amethyst’s right arm, drawing a roar from her. She swiftly cut it off at the head.

Other snakes began to appear as the mud which had encased them dissolved in the roaring deluge.

"That one," Aunt Pearl said, pointing at a dull green reptile struggling to free itself from the clay. "Fetch it for me, Steven."

" **_Fetch_ ** it?" Steven gasped, his flesh crawling.

"I'll do it," V said, swallowing a lump in her throat. She picked up a forked stick and pinned the snake's head down with it. Then she carefully took hold of the wet skin at the back of the serpent's neck and lifted the twisting reptile.

 

"Bring it here," Aunt Pearl ordered, wiping the water from her face. V carried the snake to her and held it out. The forked tongue flickered nervously, and the dead eyes fixed on her.

" **_What is the meaning of_ ** **this** ?" she demanded of the snake.

The serpent hissed at her. Then in a voice that was a sibilant whisper it replied, "Ttttthat, Polina, is the affair of my mistresssssss."

V’s face blanched as the dripping snake spoke, and she tightened her grip, causing the captive snake to hiss.

"I see," Aunt Pearl said.

"Abandon this search," the snake hissed. "My mistresssssss will allow you to go no further."

Aunt Pearl laughed scornfully. "Allow?" she said. "Your mistress hasn't the power to allow me anything."

"My mistressssss is the queen of Olivia," the snake said in its whispering hiss. "Her power there is abssssolute. The ways of the serpent are not the ways of men, and my mistress is queen of the serpents. You will enter Olivia at your own peril. We are patient and not afraid. We will await you where you least expect us. Our sssssting is a small injury, scarce noted, but it is death."

"What's Holly Green’s interest in this matter?" Aunt Pearl asked.

The serpent's flickering tongue darted at her. "She has not chosen to reveal that to me, and it is not in my nature to be curioussss. I have delivered my message and already received my reward. Now do with me as you wish."

"Very well," Aunt Pearl said. She looked coldly at the snake, her face streaming in the heavy rain.

"Shall I kill it?" V asked, her face set and her fingers white-knuckled from the strain of holding the thick-coiling reptile.

"No," she said quietly. "There's no point in destroying so excellent a messenger." She fixed the snake with a flinty look. "Return with these others to Holly," she said. "Tell her that if she interferes again, I'll come after her, and the deepest slime-pit in all Olivia won't hide her from my fury."

"And my reward?" the snake asked.

"You’re still alive, aren’t you?" she said.

"Sssssss true..." the serpent hissed. "I will deliver your message, Polinaaaaa."

"Put it down, V" Aunt Pearl told V.

 

The small lady bent and lowered her arm to the ground. The snake uncoiled from about her arm, and V released it and jumped back. The snake glanced once at her, then slithered away.

"I think that's enough rain, Pearl," Wolf said, mopping at his face. Aunt Pearl waved her hand almost negligently, and the rain stopped as if a bucket had emptied itself.

"Wait, where’s Bismuth?" Amethyst reminded them. Aunt Pearl whirled around sharply at the question. 

"He was behind us." Steven pointed back up the now-overflowing stream. His chest felt constricted with a cold fear at what they might find, but he steeled himself and led the way back into the trees.

"The smith is a good companion and friend" Jasper said. "I’d hate to lose him." 

There was a strange, subdued quality in the knight's voice, and his face seemed abnormally pale in the dim light. The hand holding his great broadsword, however, was rock-steady. Only his eyes betrayed a kind of doubt Steven had never seen there before.

 

Water dripped around them as they walked through the sodden woods. They walked with Aunt Pearl in the forefront, who every so often, looked about her for Bismuth. Her expression was grim, but in her eyes, Steven saw an almost fatal amount of worry. 

"It was about here," Steven said, looking around. "I don't see any sign of him."

"I'm up here." Bismuth's voice came from above them. He was a goodly distance up a large oak tree and was peering down. "Are they gone?" He carefully began climbing down the slippery tree trunk. "The rain came just in time," he said, jumping down the last few feet. "I was starting to have a little trouble keeping them out of the tree."

 

Quickly, without a word, Aunt Pearl embraced the good man, and then, as if embarrassed by that sudden gesture, she began to scold him. Bismuth endured her words patiently, and there was a strange expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't already tell, I ship Bispearl.


	22. In Sylvan Shade : Finale Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie and the Fellowship is received by their magical cousins the Dryads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale Time for Shwar. We had a lot of fun, but it's time to move on. I want to write Olivia. I want to write about a world where backstabbery and murder isn't just clandestine, but encouraged and not at all frowned upon. What a society that would be.

**STEVEN’S SLEEP THAT NIGHT WAS TROUBLED** . He awoke frequently, shuddering at the remembered touch of the mud-men. But in time the night, as all nights must, came to an end, and the morning dawned clear and bright. He drowsed for a while, rolled in his blankets, until Connie came to get him up.

 

"Steven," she said softly, touching his shoulder, "are you awake?" 

He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into two hazelnut orbs.  "Good morning."

"Lady Polina says that you're supposed to get up," she told him.

Steven yawned, stretched and sat up. He glanced out the tent flap and saw that the sun was shining.

"She's teaching me how to cook," Connie said rather proudly.

"That's nice, Connie," Steven told her, pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

 

She looked at him for a long moment, her small face serious and her dark eyes intent. "Steven."

"Yes?"

"I… I wanted to thank you. You were very brave yesterday."

He shrugged slightly, though on the inside, he felt heart flutter. 

"I'll probably get a scolding for it today."

"What? What for?"

"Aunt Pearl and my grandfather don't like it when I try to be brave," he explained. "They think I'm still a child, and they don't want me to get hurt."

" **_Steven_ ** !" Aunt Pearl called from the small fire where she was cooking. "I need more firewood."

Steven sighed and rolled out of his blankets. He pulled on his half boots, belted on his sword and went off into the woods.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

It was still damp under the huge oaks from the downpour Aunt Pearl had called down the day before, and dry wood was hard to find. He wandered about, pulling limbs out from under fallen trees and from beneath overhanging rocks. The silent trees watched him, but they seemed somehow more friendly this morning.

 

"What are you doing?" a light voice came from above him. He looked up quickly, his hand going to his sword.

 

A girl was standing on a broad limb just over his head. She wore a belted tunic and sandals. Her hair was a tawny color, her gray eyes were curious, and her pale skin had that faint greenish hue to it that identified her as a Dryad. 

In her left hand she held a bow, and her right held an arrow against the taut string. The arrow was pointed directly at Steven.

He carefully took his hand away from his sword. 

"I'm gathering wood," he said.

"What for?"

"My aunt needs it for the fire," he explained.

"Fire?" The girl's face hardened, and she half drew her bow. "A small one," he said quickly, "for cooking."

"Fire isn't permitted here," the girl said sternly.

"You'll have to explain that to Aunt Pearl," Steven told her. "I just do what I'm told."

 

The girl whistled, and another girl came from behind a nearby tree. She also carried a bow. Her hair was almost the same hue as Connie's, and her skin was also touched with the color of leaves.

 

"It says it's gathering wood," the first girl reported, "for a fire. Do you think I should kill it?"

"Priyanka says we're supposed to find out who they are," the redhaired one said thoughtfully. "If it turns out that they don't have any business here, then you can kill it."

"Oh, very well," the tawny-haired girl agreed, with obvious disappointment. "But don't forget that I found this one. When the time comes, I get to kill it."

Steven felt the hair beginning to rise on the back of his neck.

 

The red-haired one whistled, and a half dozen other armed Dryads drifted out of the trees. They were all quite small, and their hair was various shades of reds and golds, not unlike the color of autumn leaves.

They gathered about Steven, giggling and chattering as they examined him.

 

"That one is mine," the tawny-haired Dryad said, climbing down from the tree. "I found it, and Priya says that I get to kill it."

"It looks healthy," one of the others observed, "and quite tame. Maybe we should keep it. Is it a male?"

Another one giggled. "Let's check and find out."

"That's not necessary! I'm a male," Steven said quickly, blushing in spite of himself.

"It seems a shame to waste it," one remarked. "Maybe we could keep it for a while and then kill it."

"It's mine," the tawny-haired Dryad stated stubbornly, "and if I want to kill it. I will." She took hold of Steven's arm possessively. 

"Let's go look at the others," the one called Priya suggested. "They're building fires, and we'll want to stop that."

"Fires?" several of the others gasped, and they all glared at Steven accusingly.

"Only a small one," Steven said meekly. 

"Bring it along," Priya ordered and started off through the Wood toward the tents. 

 

\---------------------------

 

Far overhead the trees murmured to each other. Aunt Pearl was waiting calmly when they reached the clearing where the tents were. She looked at the Dryads clustered around Steven with an unchanging expression. 

"Welcome, ladies," she said.

The Dryads began whispering to each other.

" **_Connie_ ** !" the one called Priya exclaimed.

" **_Cousin_ ** !" Connie replied, and the two ran to embrace each other. The other Dryads came out a little farther into the clearing, looking nervously at the fire.

Connie spoke quickly with Priya, explaining to her cousin who they were, and Priya motioned for the others to come closer. 

"It seems that these are friends," she said. "We'll take them to our mother, Queen Priyanka."

"Does that mean that I  **_won't_ ** get to kill this one?" The tawny-haired Dryad demanded petulantly, pointing a small finger at Steven.

"Oh stars, no, certainly not," Priya answered firmly.

The tawny one stamped away, pouting. Steven breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Then Mister Wolf came out of one of the tents and looked at the cluster of Dryads with a broad smile.

 

"It's Mr Universe!" one of the Dryads squealed and ran to him happily. She threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him soundly on the cheeks and lips. 

"Did you bring us any sweets, Mr Greg-of-the-Universe?" she demanded.

The old man put on a sober expression and began rummaging through his many pockets. Bits of sweetmeats began to appear just as quickly disappeared as the Dryads gathered about him, snatching them as fast as he took them from his pockets.

"Have you got any new stories for us, Mr Greg-of-the-Universe?" one of the Dryads asked.

“Please, sweetlings, it's just Greg now. Or Mister Wolf, if you insist on calling me Mister something." Wolf said gently, his hands open and placating.. "But shouldn't we be waiting so your sisters can hear them too?"

"We want one just for ourselves," the Dryad said.

"And what would you give me for this special story?"

"Kisses," the Dryad offered promptly. "Five kisses from each of us."

"I've got a very good story," Wolf bargained. "It's worth more than five. Let's say ten."

"Eight," the little Dryad countered.

"All right," Wolf agreed. "Eight sounds about right."

"I see you've been here before, Old Wolf," Aunt Pearl remarked dryly.

"I visit from time to time," he admitted with a bland expression.

"Those sweets aren't good for them, you know," she chided.

"A little bit won't hurt them, Pearl," he said dismissively. "and they like them very much. A Dryad will do almost anything for sweets, you know." He said that last bit in a tone that suggested more than he said.

" **_Ugh_ ** , you're disgusting," she told him.

 

\---------------------

 

The Dryads were all clustered around Mister Wolf, looking almost like a garden of spring flowers - all, that is, except for the tawny one who'd captured Steven. She stood a bit apart, sulking and fingering the point of her arrow. She finally came over to Steven. 

 

"You're not thinking about running away, are you?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Steven denied emphatically.

She sighed with disappointment. "I don't suppose you'd consider it, would you - as a special favor to me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, almost apologetically. “I don't think I will.”

She sighed again, bitterly this time. "I never get to have any fun," she complained and went to join the others.

Steven watched her go with a pang of guilt that he didn't quite understand.

 

_ What was he feeling guilty for? Not offering to get shot? _

_ She was pretty cute though. _

_ Who cares if she was? She was going to  _ **_shoot_ ** _ you.  _

 

As Steven wrestled with this mental conundrum, V emerged from a tent, moving slowly and carefully; and after the Dryads had become accustomed to her, Bismuth appeared.

"They're just children, aren't they?" Steven commented to Aunt Pearl.

"They seem to be," she said, "but they're much older than they look. A Dryad lives as long as her tree does, and oak trees live for a long time."

"Where are the boy Dryads?" he asked. "All I see are girls."

"There aren't any boy Dryads, dear," she explained, returning to her cooking.

"Then how-? I mean--how do they--" He faltered and felt his ears growing hot.

"They catch human males for that," she said. "Travelers and the like."

"Oh." He delicately let the subject drop.

 

After they had eaten breakfast and carefully quenched their fire with water from the stream, they saddled their horses and started off through the Wood. 

Mister Wolf walked ahead with the tiny Dryads still gathered around him, laughing and chattering like happy children. The murmuring of the trees about them was no longer unfriendly, and they moved through a kind of welcoming rustle from a million leaves.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

It was late afternoon by the time they reached a large clearing in the center of the Wood. Standing alone in the middle of the clearing was an oak so huge that Steven could hardly accept the idea that anything so enormous could be alive. 

Here and there in its mossy trunk were openings almost like caverns, and its lower limbs were as broad as highways and they spread out to shade nearly the entire clearing. 

There was about the tree a sense of vast age and a patient wisdom. Tentatively Steven felt a faint touch on his mind, almost like the soft brush of a leaf against his face. The touch was unlike anything he had ever felt before, but it also seemed to welcome him.

 

The tree was literally alive with Dryads, clustering randomly on the limbs like blossoms. Their laughter and girlish chatter filled the air like birdsongs.

"I'll tell our mother you've arrived," the one called Priya said and went toward the tree.

Steven and the others dismounted and stood uncertainly near their horses. From overhead Dryads peered curiously down at them, whispering among themselves and giggling often.

 

For some reason the frank, mirthful stares of the Dryads made Steven feel very self conscious. He moved closer to Aunt Pearl and noticed, to his surprise, that the others were also clustering around her as if unconsciously seeking her protection.

"Where's the princess?" she asked.

"She's just over there, Mistress Pearl," Bismuth answered, "visiting with that group of Dryads."

"Keep your eye on her," Aunt Pearl said. "And where's my vagrant father?"

"Near the tree," Steven replied. "The Dryads seem very fond of him."

"Hmmph. The old fool," Aunt Pearl said darkly.

 

Then, from a hollow in the tree some distance above the first broad limbs, another Dryad appeared. Instead of the short tunic the others wore, this one was garbed in a flowing green gown, and her golden hair was caught in with a circlet of what appeared to be mistletoe. Gracefully she descended to the ground.

 

Aunt Pearl went forward to meet her, and the others trailed behind at a respectful distance.

"Dear Polina," the Dryad said warmly, "it's been so long."

"We all have our duties, Priyanka," Aunt Pearl explained.

The two embraced fondly.

"Have you brought us these as gifts?" Queen Priyanka asked, looking admiringly at the men standing behind Aunt Pearl.

Aunt Pearl laughed. "I'm afraid not, Priyanka. I'd be happy to give them to you, but I think I may need them later."

"Ah well," the queen said with a mock sigh. "Welcome all," she greeted them. "You'll sup with us, of course."

"We'd be delighted," Aunt Pearl said. Then she took the queen's arm. "Can we talk for a moment first, Priyanka?" 

 

The two moved apart from the others and spoke quietly together as the Dryads carried bundles and sacks down from the hollows in the tree and began to lay a feast on the grass beneath the broad limbs.

The meal which was spread out looked peculiar. The common food of the Dryads seemed to consist entirely of fruits, nuts and mushrooms, all prepared without any cooking.

Amethyst sat down and looked sourly at what was offered. "What? No meat?" she grumbled.

"Hey, as far as I know, you don't technically need to eat anyway," V said nonchalantly. 

Amethyst sipped suspiciously at her cup. 

"Blech," she said with distaste. “Water.”

"You might find it a novelty to go to bed sober for a change," Aunt Pearl observed as she rejoined them.

"I'm almost positive that's unhealthy,," Amy said.

 

Connie seated herself near Queen Priyanka. She obviously wanted to talk to her, but since there was no opportunity for privacy, she finally spoke out in front of them all. "I have a favor to ask, your Highness."

"You may ask, child," the queen said, smiling.

"It's only a small thing," Connie explained. "I'll need sanctuary for a few years. My father's growing unreasonable in his old age. I'll have to stay away from him until he comes to his senses."

"In what way is Doug growing unreasonable?" Priyanka asked.

"He won't let me go out of the palace, and he insists that I go to Hrodenheim on my sixteenth birthday," Connie said in an outraged tone. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"And why does he want you to go to Hrodenheim?"

"Some foolish treaty. No one even remembers the reason for it."

"If it's a treaty, it must be honored, my dear," the queen said gently.

"I **_won't_** **_go_** to Hrodenheim," Connie announced. "I'll stay here until after my sixteenth birthday's passed, and that'll be the end of it."

"No, Connie," the queen said firmly, "you won't."

"What?" Connie was stunned.

"We have a treaty too," Priyanka explained. "Our agreement with the House of Maheshwaran is most explicit. Our Wood remains inviolate only for so long as the female descendants of the Princess Philippa stay with the Borunes. It's your duty to remain with your father and to obey him."

"But I'm a Dryad," Connie wailed. "I belong here."

"You're also human," the queen said, "and you belong with your father."

"I don't want to go to Hrodenheim," Connie protested. "It's degrading."

Priyanka looked at her sternly. "Don't be a foolish child," she said. "Your duties are clear. You have a duty as a Dryad, as a Maheshwaran, and as an Imperial Princess. Your silly little whims are quite beside the point. If you have an obligation to go to Hrodenheim, then you shall go."

 

Connie appeared shaken by the finality of the queen's tone, and she sulked in silence after that.

Then the queen turned to Mister Wolf. 

"There are many rumors abroad," she said, "and some of them have even reached us here. I think something momentous is happening out there in the world of the humans, and it may even touch our lives in this Wood. I think I should know what this thing is."

Wolf nodded gravely. "I expect you should," he agreed. "The Grey Ward has been stolen from the throne in the Hall of the Hroden King by Andarion the Renegade."

Priyanka caught her breath. "How?" she demanded.

Wolf spread his hands. "We don't know.  Andy's trying to reach the kingdoms of the Alabastians with the Ward. Once he's there, he'll try to use its power to awaken Black Diamond."

"That must never happen," the Queen said. "What's being done?"

"The Sangrians and the Delmarvians are getting ready for war," Wolf replied. "The Flax have promised aid, and your.. er... Doug, has been advised, though he didn't make any promises.” He glanced at the pouting Connie.

"Oh, Doug, you little fool," the queen sadly chided. “Does this mean war?”

"I'm afraid so, Priyanka," he said. "I'm pursuing Andy with these others, and I hope we can catch him and get the Ward back before he can reach Black Diamond with it. If we're successful, I think the Alabastians will attack the West anyway out of desperation. Certain ancient prophecies are getting close to their fulfillment. There are signs everywhere, and even the twisted perceptions of the Mareks can read them."

The Queen sighed. "I've seen some of the signs myself, Gregarion," she said. "I'd hoped I was wrong. What does this Andy look like?"

"A great deal like me," Wolf told her. "We served the same Master for a very long time, and that puts a certain mark on people."

"Someone like that passed through the upper reaches of our Wood last week and crossed over into Olivia," Priyanka said. "If we'd known, we might have been able to detain him."

"We're closer than I thought, then. Was he alone?"

"No," Priyanka reported. "He had two of the servants of the Black with him and a small boy."

Wolf looked startled. "A boy?"

"Yes-about six years old or so."

The old man frowned, and then his eyes opened very wide. "So that's how he did it," he exclaimed. "I never thought of that."

"We can show you where he crossed the river into Olivia," the queen offered. "I should warn you though that it's going to be dangerous for so large a party to go there. Holly has eyes everywhere in those swamps."

"I've already made plans for that," Mister Wolf assured her. He turned to Amethyst. 

"Are you sure that ship's going to be waiting at the mouth of the River of the Woods?" he asked.

"Don’t sweat it, G-man," Amethyst rumbled. "Her captain's a dependable man. I should know, I’ve sailed with him too many times."

"Good," Wolf said. "V and I'll pick up Andy’s trail then, and the rest of you can follow the river to the sea. Take the ship down the coast and then up the River of the Serpent to Echelon. We'll meet you there."

"Greg, not to question your judgement or anything, but do you think it’s wise to split up our party in a place like Olivia? It could be dangerous." Jasper warned.

"It's necessary," Wolf said. "The snake people are at home in their jungles, and they don't like outsiders. Vidalia and I can move swiftly and with greater stealth if we're alone."

"Where do you want us to meet you?" Amethyst asked.

"There's a Q’zarnian trade enclave near the wharves in Echelon," V said, buckling on her utility belt. "Several of the merchants there are my friends. Just ask for Anna of Wal’kofte. If we can't meet you there, we'll leave word of our whereabouts with the merchants."

"What about me?" Connie asked.

"I think you'll have to stay with us," Aunt Pearl answered.

"But there's no reason for  **_me_ ** to go to Olivia," Connie said.

"You'll go because I told you to," Aunt Pearl told the tiny girl. "I'm not your father, Connie. Your pouting doesn't wring my heart, and your fluttering eyelashes don't really impress me."

"I'll run away," Connie threatened, though her declaration lacked conviction.

Aunt Pearl looked at her for a moment, as if deciding what to say, though from the iron glint in her eyes, Steven knew that to be false.

She already knew what she wanted to say. She was just making up her mind on how to say it.

Then Steven saw that glint harden, and he knew there was no question that Connie would be coming along.

 

"That would be very foolish," Aunt Pearl said coldly. "I'd just have to bring you back again, and you'd find that unpleasant. Affairs in the world just now are much too serious to allow the whims of one spoiled little girl to have very much importance. You'll stay with me, and you will stand in the Hall of the Hroden King on your sixteenth birthday even if I have to take you there  **_in chains._ ** We're all much too busy to pamper you any further."

Connie stared at her, and then she suddenly burst into tears.

Steven, however, stared at his Aunt in amazement.

 

She had let her off easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl's such a meanie sometimes. It pains me to have to write her as such a harsh character, but I imagine that this is how she would be without Rose and with no real support group like the Crystal Gems to rely on.
> 
> That being said, I'm so tired. I'll probably release the finale some time in the next day or so. I just really need a nap right now *yawn*


	23. Celestial Inferno : Finale Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dormant powers awaken.

**THE NEXT MORNING** before the sun rose and while filmy mist still hovered beneath the limbs of the great oaks, Vidalia and Mister Wolf made preparations to leave for Olivia. 

Steven sat on a log, somberly watching the old man bundle up some food.

"What’s the matter, Shtu-roll?" Wolf asked him.

"I wish we didn't have to separate this way," Steven said.

"It's only for a couple of weeks, Steven."

"I know, but the last time you left, it was five years." Steven said sulkily.

"I promise, I won’t be gone for that long." Wolf said, tying up his bundle. “Keep an eye on your Aunt Pearl while we’re gone, okay Shtu-roll?”

"All right, Grandfather.”

"And remember to always keep your amulet on. Olivia’s a dangerous place, more so than anywhere we’ve ever been."

"I'll remember," Steven promised. "You'll be careful, won't you, grandfather?"

The old man looked at him gravely, his white beard glistening in the misty light. 

"I'm always careful, Steven," he said.

"It's getting late, Greg," Vidalia called, leading two horses up to where the two of them were talking.

Wolf nodded. "We'll see you in two weeks in Echelon," he said to Steven.

 

Steven embraced the old man quickly and then turned away so that he wouldn't have to watch the two of them leave. He crossed the clearing to where Jasper stood pensively looking out into the mist.

 

"It’s never easy, parting with a loved one." the knight said moodily. He sighed.

"It's more than that though, isn't it, Jasper?" Steven asked.

"You’ve always been a perceptive kid."

"What's been troubling you? You've been acting strangely for the last two days."

"I have discovered a strange feeling within myself, Steven, and I don’t like it one bit."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Fear," Jasper said shortly.

" **_Fear_ ** ? Of what?"

"The clay men. I… I don’t know why, but, when I was facing them down, I felt chilled to my very soul."

"They frightened us all, Jasper," Steven told him.

"I have never been afraid before," Jasper said quietly.

"Never?"

"Not even as a child. The clay men made my flesh creep, and I wanted most desperately to run away."

"But you didn't," Steven pointed out. "You stayed and fought."

"That time yes," Jasper admitted. "But what of next time? Now that fear has found its way into my spirit, who can say when it might return? In some desperate hour when the outcome of our quest hangs in the balance, what if fear grips my heart and paralyses me? That possibility gnaws at my soul. It is my fault that I've become weak."

"Ashamed? For being human? You're too hard on yourself, Jasper."

"That’s very kind of you to excuse me, Steven, but my failing is too grievous for such simple forgiveness. I have striven for perfection and struck, I think, not too far off the mark; but now that perfection, which was the pinnacle of my existence, is flawed. It is a bitter thing to accept." 

He turned, and Steven was startled to see tears standing in his eyes. "Would you help me into my armor, Steven?" he asked.

"Of course."

"I… feel safer in my armor. Oh, stars, I’m such a coward."

"You're not a coward," Steven insisted.

Jasper sighed sadly. "Only time can reveal that.” 

 

When it was time to leave, Queen Priyanka spoke briefly to them. 

"I wish you all well," she said. "I'd help you in your search if possible, but a Dryad's bound to her tree by ties which can't be broken. My tree here is very old, and I must care for him." She looked fondly up at the vast oak rising into the morning mist. "We're in bondage to each other, but it's a bondage of eternal love."

 

Once again Steven felt that same faint touch on his mind that he had experienced the day before when he had first seen the huge tree. There was a sense of farewell in that touch, and what seemed to be a warning.

 

Queen Priyanka exchanged a startled glance with Aunt Pearl and then looked at Steven rather closely. "Some of my younger daughters will guide you to the river that marks the southern border of our Wood," she continued. "From there your way to the sea is clear." Her voice showed no sign of any change, but her eyes seemed thoughtful.

"Thank you, Priya," Aunt Pearl said warmly, embracing the Dryad queen. "If you can send word to the Maheshwarans that Connie’s safe and with me, it might relieve the Emperor's mind somewhat."

“I'm a Maheshwaran too, remember?” she replied dryly.

“Oh, you know what I mean, Priyanka.” 

"I will, Pearl, you have my word," Priyanka promised.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

They mounted then and followed the half dozen or so Dryads who flitted ahead of them like butterflies, guiding them southward into the forest. 

For some reason Steven felt profoundly depressed, and he paid little attention to his surroundings as he rode beside Bismuth along the winding forest trail.

 

About mid-morning it began to grow darker under the trees, and they rode in silence through the now-somber wood. 

The warning Steven had seemed to hear in Queen Priyanka's clearing echoed somehow in the creaking of tree limbs and the rustling of leaves. 

 

"The weather must be changing," Bismuth said, looking up. "I wish I could see the sky."

 

Steven nodded and tried to shake off the sense of impending danger. Jasper in his armor and Amethyst in her mail shirt rode at the head of the party, and Ruby in her horsehide jacket with steel plates riveted to it rode at the rear. The ominous sense of foreboding seemed to have reached them all now, and they rode warily with their hands near their weapons and their eyes searching for trouble.

 

Then quite suddenly Shwarean legionnaires were all around them, rising from the bushes or stepping out from behind trees. They made no attempt to attack, but stood in their brightly polished breastplates with their short spears at the ready.

Amethyst swore, and Jasper reined in his charger sharply. 

"Stand aside!" Jasper ordered the soldiers, lowering his lance.

"Easy, sis," Amy cautioned.

The Dryads, after one startled look at the soldiers, melted into the gloomy woods.

"What say you, Lord Amethyst?" Jasper asked blithely. "I'd say there can't be over a hundred of them. It's a small group. Should we fight?"

"One of these days you and I are going to have to have a long talk about what the word  **_small_ ** means," Amethyst said. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Ruby was edging closer, then she sighed.

"Well, I suppose we might as well get on with it." she tightened the straps on her mail and loosened his sword in its sheath. "What do you think, Jasper? Should we give them a chance to run away?"

"How courteous of you, Lord Amethyst," Jasper agreed.

 

Then, some distance up the trail, a body of horsemen rode out from under the shadowy trees. Their leader was a large man wearing a blue cloak trimmed with silver. His breastplate and helmet were inlaid with gold, and he rode a prancing chestnut stallion whose hooves churned the damp leaves lying on the ground. 

"Splendid," he said as he rode up. "Absolutely splendid."

Aunt Pearl fixed the newcomer with a cold eye. 

"Don't the legions have anything better to do than to waylay travelers?" she demanded.

"This is my legion, Madam," the man in the blue cloak said arrogantly, "and it does what I tell it to. I see that you have the Princess Connie with you."

"Where I go and with whom is my concern, your Grace," Connie said loftily. "It's of no concern to the Grand Duke Kevin of the House of Tjinder."

"Your father is most concerned, Princess," Kevin said. "All Shwar’s searching for you. Who are these people?"

 

Steven tried with a dark scowl and a shake of his head to warn her, but it was too late.

"The two knights who lead our party are Sir Jasper, Baron of I'chir Quartizia, and Lord Amethyst, Earl of Crenellan," she announced. "The Ainur warrior who guards our rear is Ruby, daughter of Evan, Chief of the Clan-Chiefs of Aine. The lady-"

"I can speak for myself, dear," Aunt Pearl said smoothly. "I'm curious to know what brings the Grand Duke of Tjinder so far into southern Shwar."

"I have interests here, Madam," Kevin said.

" **_Evidently_ ** ," Aunt Pearl replied.

"All the legions of the Empire are searching for the princess, but it's I who have found her."

"I'm amazed to find a Tjinderian so willing to aid in the search for a Maheshwaran princess," Aunt Pearl observed. "Especially considering the centuries of enmity between your two houses."

"Shall we cease this idle banter?" Kevin suggested icily. "My motives are my own affair."

"And unsavory, no doubt," she added.

"I think you forget yourself, Madam," Kevin said. "I am, after all, who I am - and more to the point, who I will become."

"And who will you become, your Grace?" she inquired.

"I will be Kevin Bal, Emperor of Shwar," Kevin announced.

"Oh? And just what's the future Emperor of Shwar doing in the Wood of the Dryads?"

"I'm doing what's necessary to protect my interests," Kevin said stiffly. "For the moment, it's essential that the Princess Connie be in my custody."

"My father may have something to say about that, Duke Kevin," Connie said, "and about this ambition of yours."

"What Douglas Maheshwaran says is of no concern to me, your Highness," Kevin told her. "Shwar needs me, and no Maheshwaran trick is going to deny me the Imperial Crown. It's obvious that the old man plans to marry you to a Harith or a Morganite to raise some spurious claim to the throne. That could complicate matters, but I intend to keep things simple."

"By marrying me yourself?" Connie asked scornfully. "You'll never live that long."

"No," Kevin said. "I wouldn't be interested in a Dryad wife. Unlike the Maheshwarans, the House of Tjinder believes in keeping its line pure and  **_uncontaminated_ ** ."

"So you're going to hold me prisoner?" Connie asked.

"That'd be impossible, I'm afraid," Duke Kevin told her. "The Emperor has ears everywhere. It's really a shame you ran away just when you did, your Highness. I'd gone to a great expense to get one of my agents into the Imperial kitchen and to obtain a quantity of a rare Olivia poison. I'd even taken the trouble to compose a letter of sympathy to your father."

"How…  **_considerate_ ** of you," Connie said shakily, her face turning pale.

"Unfortunately, I'll have to be more direct now," Kevin went on. "A sharp knife and a few feet of dirt should end your unfortunate involvement in Shwarean politics. I'm very sorry, Princess. There's nothing personal in it, you understand, but I have to protect my interests."

"That plan of yours, Duke Kevin, has one small flaw," Jasper said, carefully leaning his lance against a tree.

"I fail to see it, Baron," Kevin said smugly.

"You're within reach of my sword," Jasper told him. "Your last mistake, fool. A man with no head has little need of a crown."

Steven knew that a part of Jasper's brashness arose from his desperate need to prove to himself that he was no longer afraid.

Kevin looked at the knight apprehensively. "You wouldn't do that," he said without much conviction.. "You're too badly outnumbered."

"You think numbers are all that matter in a fight?," Jasper said. "I have faced entire armies alone with nothing but my fists. And today, I am fully armed. Your soldiers will fall like blades of grass before me. Your reign ends here, Kevin." 

 

And with that he drew his great sword.

"It was bound to happen," Amethyst said wryly to Ruby and drew her own whip.

"I don't think we'll do that," a new voice announced harshly. A familiar black-robed man rode out from behind a nearby tree on a sable-colored horse. He muttered a few quick words and gestured sharply with his right hand. Steven felt a dark rush and a strange roaring in his mind. Jasper's sword spun from his grip.

"My thanks, Rohk," Kevin said in a relieved tone. "I hadn't anticipated that."

 

Jasper pulled off his mailed gauntlet and nursed his hand as if he had been struck a heavy blow. Ruby's eyes narrowed, and then went strangely blank. The Isyaki’s black mount glanced curiously at him once and then looked away almost contemptuously.

 

"Well, Rider," Rohk-Nal-Do gloated with an ugly smirk on his scarred face, "would you like to try that again?"

Ruby's face had a sick look of revulsion on it. "It's not a horse," she said. "It looks like a horse, but it's something else."

"Yes," Rohk agreed. "Quite different, really. You can sink yourself into its mind if you want, but I don't think you'll like what you find there." 

He swung down from his saddle and walked toward them, his eyes burning. He stopped in front of Aunt Pearl and made an ironic bow. "And so we meet again, my Pearl."

"You've been busy, Bloodstone," she replied.

Kevin, in the act of dismounting, seemed startled. "You know this woman, Rohk?"

"His name is Bloodstone, Duke Kevin," Aunt Pearl said, "and he's a Marek priest. You thought he was only buying your honor, but you'll soon find that he's bought much more than that." She straightened in her saddle, the white lock at her brow suddenly incandescently bright. "You've been an interesting opponent, Bloodstone. I'll almost miss you."

"Don't do it, Pearl," the Marek said quickly. "I've got my hand around the boy's heart. The instant you start to gather your essence, he'll die. I know who he is and how much you value him."

Her eyes narrowed. "An easy thing to say..."

"Would you like to test it?" he mocked.

"Get down off your horses," Kevin ordered sharply, and the legionnaires all took a threatening step forward.

"Do as he says," Aunt Pearl ordered quietly.

"It's been a long chase, Pearl," Bloodstone said. "Where's Gregarion?"

"Not far," she told him. "Perhaps if you start running now, you can get away before he comes back."

"No, Polina." He laughed. "I'd know if he were that close." He turned and looked intently at Steven. "You've grown, boy. We haven't had a chance to talk for quite some time, have we?"

 

\-----------------------------

 

Steven stared back at the scarred face of his enemy, alert, but strangely not afraid. The contest between them for which he had been waiting all his life was about to begin, and something deep within his mind told him that he was ready.

 

Bloodstone looked into his eyes, probing. 

"He doesn't know, does he?" he asked Aunt Pearl. And then he laughed. "How like a woman you are, Pearl. You've kept the secret from him simply for the sake of the secret itself. I should have taken him away from you years ago."

"Leave him alone, Bloodstone," she ordered.

He ignored that. "What's his real name, Pearl? Have you told him yet?"

"That doesn't concern you," she said flatly.

"Oh, but it does, Pearl. I've watched over him almost as carefully as you have." He laughed again. "You've been his mother, but I've been his father. Between us we've raised a fine son - but I still want to know his real name."

She straightened. "I think this has gone far enough, Bloodstone," she said coldly. "What are your terms?"

"No terms, Polina," the Marek answered. "You and the boy and I are going to the place where my Mistress White awaits the moment of her awakening. My hand will be about the boy's heart the entire time, so you'll be… suitably tame. Andy and Aquamarine are going to destroy each other fighting over the Ward - unless Gregarion finds them first and destroys them himself - but the Ward doesn't really interest me. It's been you and the boy I've been after from the very beginning."

"You weren't really trying to stop us, then?" she asked.

Bloodstone laughed. "Stop you? I've been trying to help you. Aqua and Andy both have underlings here in the West. I've delayed and deceived them at every turn just so you could get through. I knew that sooner or later Gregarion would find it necessary to pursue the Ward alone, and when that happened, I could take you and the boy."

"For what purpose?"

"You still don't see?" he asked. "The first two things Mistress White sees when she awakens will be her loyal Pearl and her mortal enemy, kneeling in chains before her. I'll be exalted above all for so royal a gift."

"Let the others go then," she said.

"The others don't concern me," Bloodstone said. "I'll leave them with the noble Kevin, I don't imagine he'll find it convenient to keep them alive, but that's up to him. I've got what I want."

"You swine!" Aunt Pearl raged helplessly. "You filthy swine!"

Aunt Pearl was suddenly silenced by a sharp slap across her cheek that turned her face aside. Her lips were frozen in an open expression of shock as her hands rose to the spot where the slap had landed.

 

"My dear Pearl, you really must learn to control your tongue," he said. Steven's brain seemed to explode. 

 

Dimly he saw Bismuth and the others being restrained by the legionnaries, but no soldier seemed to consider him a danger. He started toward his enemy without thinking, reaching for his dagger.

 

" **_Not that way!"_ ** It was that dry voice in his mind that had always been there, but the voice was no longer passive, disinterested. It was charged with an energy Steven had never felt before.

"I'll kill him!" Steven said silently in the vaults of his brain.

" **_Not_ ** that way!" the voice warned again. "They won't let you - not with your knife. "

"How, then?"

"Remember what Gregarion said - the Essence, the Will."

"I don't know how I can't do that. "

"Yes, you do. I'll show you. Look!" 

 

Unbidden and so clearly that it was almost as if he were watching it happen, the image of the Mad Black Diamond writhing in the fire of Grey's Ward rose before her eyes. He saw Black Diamond’s face corrupted and her fingers blackening. Then the face shifted and altered until it was the face of the dark watcher whose mind had been linked with his for as long as he could remember. 

He felt a terrible force building in him as the image of Bloodstone wrapped in seething flame stood before him.

" **_Now!_ ** " the voice commanded him. " **_Do it!"_ **

 

It required a blow. His rage would be satisfied with nothing less. He leaped at the smirking Marek so quickly that none of the legionnaires could stop him. He swung his right arm, and at the instant his palm struck Bloodstone’s scarred left cheek, he felt all the force that had built in him surge out from the silvery mark on his palm. 

 

" **_Fry_ ** , you bastard." he commanded, willing it to happen.

 

Taken off guard, Bloodstone jerked back. A momentary anger began to appear on his face, and then his eyes widened with an awful realization. For an instant he stared at Steven in absolute horror, and then his face contorted with agony. 

**_"No!"_ ** he cried out hoarsely, and then his cheek began to smoke and seethe where the mark on Steven's hand had touched it. Wisps of smoke drifted from his black robe as if it had suddenly been laid on a red-hot stove. Then he shrieked and clutched at his face. His fingers burst into flame. He shrieked again and fell writhing to the damp earth.

 

**_"Stand still!"_ ** It was Aunt Pearl's voice this time, sounding sharply inside Steven's head.

Bloodstone’s entire face was engulfed in flames now, burning so hot that the flesh beneath was beginning to melt. His shrieks echoed in the dim wood. The legionnaires recoiled from the burning man, and Steven suddenly felt sick. He started to turn away.

 

**_"Don't let up, Steven!"_ ** Aunt Pearl's voice told him.  **_"Keep your will on him!"_ ** Steven stood over the blazing Marek. The wet leaves on the ground smoked and smoldered where Bloodstone thrashed and struggled with the fire that was consuming him. Flames were spurting from his chest, and his shrieks grew weaker. 

With an enormous effort, he struggled to his feet and held out his flaming hands imploringly to Steven. His face was gone, and greasy black smoke rolled off his body, drifting low to the ground. 

**_"Master,"_ ** he croaked,  **_"have mercy!"_ **

Steven's heart wrenched with pity. All the years of that secret closeness between them pulled at him.

**_"No!"_ ** Aunt Pearl's stern voice commanded. "He'll kill you if you release him!"

"I can't do it, " Steven said. "I'm going to stop it." As once before, he began to gather his will, feeling it build in him like some vast tide of pity and compassion. He half reached toward Bloodstone, focusing his thought on healing.

"Steven!" Aunt Pearl's voice rang. "It was Bloodstone who killed your parents!"

 

The thought forming in his mind froze.

 

"Bloodstone killed Gerald and Rosa. He burned them alive just as he's burning now. Don't let them die in vain, Steven! Keep the fire on him!"

 

All the rage and fury he had carried within him since Wolf had told him of the deaths of his parents flamed in his brain. 

The fire, which a moment before he had almost extinguished, was suddenly not enough. 

The hand he had begun to reach out in compassion stiffened. 

In terrible anger he raised it, palm out. A strange sensation tingled in that palm, and then his own hand burst into flames. There was no pain, not even a feeling of heat, as a bright blue fire burst from the mark on his hand and wreathed up through his fingers. 

The blue fire became brighter - so bright that he could not even look at it.

Even in the extremity of his mortal agony, Bloodstone the Marek recoiled from that blazing hand. With a hoarse, despairing cry he tried to cover his blackened face, staggered back a few steps, and then, like a burning house, he collapsed in upon himself, screaming miserably. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

Even as the colour of his skin blackened out.

Even as his flesh began to melt in the way wax rolled off a lit candle.

Even as his voice, already frail and failing, gasped at air which caught alight as it entered his burning lungs.

Then, slowly, mercifully, he perished. His ashen form finding respite amongst the damp, smoldering leaves.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

"It is done!" Aunt Pearl's voice came again. "They are avenged!" And then her voice rang in the vaults of his mind with a soaring exultation. "My Starlight!" she sang. "My darling Starlight!"

Ashen-faced Kevin, trembling in every limb, backed in horror from the pile of ashes that had been Bloodstone the Marek. 

**_"Sorcery!"_ ** he gasped.

"Indeed," Aunt Pearl said coolly. "I don't think you're ready for this kind of game yet, Kevin."

The frightened legionnaires were also backing away, their eyes bulging at what they had just seen.

"I think the Emperor's going to take this whole affair rather seriously," Aunt Pearl told them. "When he hears that you were going to kill his daughter, he'll probably take it personally."

"It wasn't us," one of the soldiers said quickly. "It was Kevin. We were just following orders."

"He might accept that as an excuse," she said doubtfully. "If it were me, though, I'd take him some kind of gift to prove my loyalty - something appropriate to the circumstances." She looked suggestively at Kevin.

Several of the legionnaires took her meaning, drew their swords and moved into position around the Grand Duke.

"What are you doing?" Kevin demanded of them.

"I think you've lost more than a throne today, Kevin," Aunt Pearl said.

"You can't do this," Kevin told the legionnaires.

One of the soldiers put the point of his sword against the Grand Duke's throat. "We're loyal to the Emperor, my Lord," he said grimly. "We're placing you under arrest for high treason, and if you give us any trouble, we'll settle for just delivering your head to Tol Maheshwar - if you take my meaning."

 

One of the legion officers knelt respectfully before Connie. "Your Imperial Highness," he said to her, "how may we serve you?"

The princess, still pale and trembling, drew herself up. "Deliver this traitor to my father," she said in a ringing voice, "and tell him what happened here. Inform him that you have arrested the Grand Duke Kevin at my command."

"At once, your Highness," the officer said, springing to his feet. "Chain the prisoner!" he ordered sharply, then turned back to Connie. "May we provide you an escort to your destination, your Highness?"

"That won't be necessary, captain," she told him. "Just remove this traitor from my sight."

"As your Highness wishes," the captain said with a deep bow. He gestured sharply, and the soldiers led a grovelling Kevin away.

Steven was staring at the mark on his palm. There was no sign of the fire that had burned there.

Bismuth, released now from the grip of the soldiers, looked at Steven, his eyes wide. 

"I thought I knew you," he whispered. "Who are you, Steven, and how did you do this?"

"Dear Bismuth," Aunt Pearl said fondly, touching his arm. "Still willing to believe only what you can see. Steven's the same boy he's always been."

"You mean it was you?" Bismuth looked at Bloodstone’s body and pulled his eyes quickly away.

"Of course," she said. "You know Steven. He's the most ordinary boy in the world."

But Steven knew differently. The Essence had been his, and the Will had come from him.

"That was well done, Steven! BUT," her voice warned inside his head. "No one must know."

"Why did you say it was you who did it?” 

“Because it's better if people  **_think_ ** you're powerless,” Aunt Pearl patiently explained. “Don't worry, Steven, we'll talk about this later.”

 

The others stood around awkwardly until the legionnaires left with Kevin. 

Then, when the soldiers were out of sight and the need for imperial self possession was gone, Connie began to cry. Aunt Pearl took the tiny girl in her arms and began to comfort her.

"I guess we'd better bury this," Amethyst said, nudging what was left of Bloodstone with her foot. "The Dryads might be offended if we went off and left it still smoking."

"I'll fetch my spade," Bismuth said.

 

Steven turned away and brushed past Jasper and Ruby. His hands were trembling violently, and he was so exhausted that his legs barely held him.

She had called him Starlight, and the name had rung in his mind as if he had always known that it was his - as if for all his brief years he had been incomplete until in that instant the name itself had completed him. But Starlight was a being who with Essence and Will and the touch of his hand could turn flesh into living fire.

 

" **_You_ ** did it!" he accused the dry awareness in one corner of his mind. 

"No," the voice replied. "I only showed you how. The will and the intent and the touch were all yours."

 

Steven knew that it was true. With horror he remembered his enemy's final supplication and the flaming, incandescent hand with which he had spurned that agonized appeal for mercy. 

The revenge he had wanted so desperately for the past several months was dreadfully complete, but the taste of it was bitter, and not at all sweet.

 

Then his knees buckled, and he sank to the earth and wept like a broken-hearted child.


	24. Intermission I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel so very tuckered out.

**Intermission I**

 

**So it's been 22 chapters straight, day after day, and I must say it feels great to churn out so many in so short a period.**

 

**However, I've come to a realisation as I'm writing this fic. Writing is easy. Thinking is hard. Like, really hard. The general tendency to overthink the scene I plan on writing really takes more out of me than the writing itself.**

**The first 10 chapters of this current volume was already pre-written since the start of The Gem Foretold. This was so that I'd have time to carefully craft 10 more while slowly releasing chapters 1 at a time to you guys. Now that we're all caught up, I can't give you guys the satisfaction of faithfully churning out a chapter each and every single day, as much as I'd like to continue doing so. I'm sorry.**

**That being said, I think I'll be taking a break for a short time. A hasty hiatus, if you will. I think I deserve it.**

**Between thinking about what to write for the ultimate showdown between Steven and Olive Green and a new sci-fi idea I've got for the Crystal Gems, I've suddenly got a whole slew of brand new possibilities opening up to me all at once, and as much as I can focus on writing to the point that I can update chapters daily, I can't do that on two fronts. I'm not a god. I'm not a Diamond.**

 

**Here I stand, all out of essence, fresh out of will. I feel the fatigue infecting my very soul. I know I'll be back in a couple of days, but if I think about that now I'll probably lose my mind.**

**So I'll be reading other people's fanfics and leaving my two-cents worth on their works instead of focusing on mine for now.**

**And I know just who to start commenting on. After all, he did the same for me.**

 

**As for the rest of my readers, I'm glad I've managed to keep your attention so far. You don't have to say anything, your reading up to this point in proof enough of your support :)**

**But if you've got anything to add, any feelings to share or fanfics you'd think might help me improve, send it my way.**

**I'm sorry that my characterisation of the SU characters aren't quite on target. That's a piece of feedback I've been getting a lot from my betas. Rest assured, the next volume aims to change that. If not, then perhaps my next fic.**

 

**Alright, that's it from me. My eyelids are beginning to droop, and if I hold on to my phone any longer with this precariously flimsy grip, it's going to fall on my face and hurt me.**

 

**Goodbye for now, my loves. I hope to see you all again soon!.**

**P. S. , Reply Bomb 2 is coming soon!**


	25. A Clash of Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven learns of his true name. And he doesn't like it.

**THE EARTH WAS STILL THE SAME.** The trees had not changed, nor had the sky. It was still spring, for the seasons had not altered their stately march. But for Steven nothing would ever again be the way that it had been.   
  
They rode down through the Wood of the Dryads to the banks of the River of the Woods which marked the southern boundary of Shwar, and from time to time as they rode he caught strange glances from his friends. 

The looks were speculative, thoughtful, and Bismuth - good, solid Bismuth - behaved as if he were almost afraid. Only Aunt Pearl seemed unchanged, unconcerned. 

 

" _ Don't worry about it, Starlight, _ " her voice murmured in his mind.   
  
" _ Don't call me that, _ " he replied with an irritated thought.   
  
" _ It's your name, _ " the silent voice said. " _ You might as well get used to it.” _   
  
" _ Leave me alone. _ "   
  
And then the sense of her presence in his mind was gone.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
It took them several days to reach the sea. The weather remained intermittently cloudy, though it did not rain. A stiff onshore breeze was blowing when they rode out onto the wide beach at the mouth of the river. The surf boomed against the sand, and whitecaps flecked the tops of the waves.   
  
Out beyond the surf, a lean, black Wy-Atian war-boat swung at anchor, the air above her alive with screeching gulls. Amethyst pulled his horse in and shaded his eyes. "She looks familiar," he rumbled, peering intently at the narrow ship.   
  
Ruby shrugged. "They all look the same to me."   
  
"Well that’s not true at all," Amethyst said, sounding a bit injured. "How would you feel if I said that all horses looked the same?"   
  
"I'd think you were going blind."   
  
Amy grinned at him. "It's exactly the same thing," she said.   
  
"How do we let them know we're here?" Bismuth asked.   
  
"They know already," Amethyst said, "unless they're drunk. Sailors always watch an unfriendly shore very carefully."   
  
"Unfriendly?" Bismuth asked.   
  
"Every shore is unfriendly when a Wy-Atian war-boat comes in sight," Amy answered. "It's some kind of superstition, I think."

  
  
The ship came about and her anchor was raised. Her oars came out like long, spidery legs, and she seemed to walk through the froth-topped combers toward the mouth of the river. Amethyst led the way toward the riverbank, then rode along the broad flow until he found a spot deep enough so that the ship could be moored next to the shore.   
  
The fur-clad sailors who threw Amethyst a mooring line looked familiar, and the first one who leaped across to the riverbank was Sugilite, Amy’s old friend.   
  
"Hmmph, you're a long way south," Amy said as if they had only just parted.   
  
Sugilite shrugged. "I heard you needed a ship. I wasn't doing anything, so I thought I'd come down and see what you were up to."   
  
"Did you talk to my cousin?"   
  
"Smiley? No. We made a run down from Goku to the harbor at Tol Morgana for some Q’zarnian merchants. I ran into Elton - you remember him - black beard, only one eye?"   
  
Amethyst nodded.   
  
"He told me that Smiley was paying him to meet you here. I remembered that you and Elton didn't get along very well, so I offered to come down instead."   
  
"And he agreed?"   
  
"No," Sugi replied, pulling at his beard. "As a matter of fact, he told me to mind my own business."   
  
"I'm not surprised," Amethyst said. "Elton always was greedy, and Smiley probably offered him a lot of money."   
  
"More than likely." Sugilite grinned. "Elton didn't say how much, though."   
  
"How did you persuade him to change his mind?"   
  
"He had some trouble with his ship," Sugilite said with a straight face.   
  
"What kind of trouble?"   
  
"It seems that one night after he and his crew were all drunk, some scoundrel slipped aboard and chopped down his mast."   
  
"What's the world coming to?" Amethyst asked, shaking her head.   
  
"My thoughts exactly," Sugilite agreed.   
  
"How did he take it?"   
  
"Not very well, I'm afraid," Sugilite said sadly. "When we rowed out of the harbor, he sounded as if he was inventing profanities on the spot. You could hear him for quite some distance."   
  
"He should learn to control his temper. That's the kind of behavior that gives Wy-Atians a bad name in the ports of the world."   
  
Sugilite nodded in mock soberness and turned to Aunt Pearl. 

 

"My Lady," he said with a polite bow, "my ship is at your disposal."   
  
"Captain," she asked, acknowledging his bow. "How long will it take you to get us to Echelon?”   
  
"Depends on the weather," he answered, squinting at the sky. "Probably ten days at the most. We picked up fodder for your horses on the way here, but we'll have to stop for water from time to time."   
  
"We'd better get started then," she said.

 

\---------------------------------------------   
  
It took a bit of persuading to get the horses aboard the ship, but Ruby managed it without too much difficulty. Then they pushed away from the bank, crossed the bar at the mouth of the river and reached the open sea. The crew raised the sails, and they quartered the wind down along the gray-green coastline of Olivia.   
  
Steven went forward to his customary place in the bow of the ship and sat there, staring bleakly out at the tossing sea. The image of the burning man back in the forest filled his mind.   
  
There was a firm step behind him and a faint, familiar fragrance.   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Aunt Pearl asked.   
  
"What's there to talk about?"   
  
"Many things," she told him.   
  
"You knew I could do that kind of thing, didn't you?"   
  
"I suspected it," she said, sitting down beside him. "There were several hints. One can never be sure, though, until it's used for the first time. I've known any number of people who had the capability and just never used it."   
  
"I wish I never had," Steven said.   
  
"I don't see that you really had much choice. Bloodstone was your enemy."   
  
"But did it have to be that way?" he demanded. "Did it have to be fire?"   
  
"The choice was yours," she answered. "If fire bothers you so much, don't do it that way next time."   
  
"There isn't going to be a next time," he stated flatly. "Not ever."   
  
" _ Starlight, _ ” her voice snapped within his mind, " _ stop this foolishness at once. Stop feeling sorry for yourself _ ."   
  
"Quit that," he said aloud. "Stay out of my mind - and  **_don't_ ** call me Starlight."   
  
"You  **_are_ ** Starlight," she insisted. "Like it or not, you will use the power again. Once it's been released, you can never cage it up. You'll get angry or frightened or excited, and you'll use it without even thinking. You can no more choose not to use it than you can choose not to use one of your hands. The important thing now is to teach you how to control it. We can't have you blundering through the world uprooting trees and flattening hills with random thoughts. You must learn to control it and yourself. I didn't raise you to let you become a monster."   
  
"It's too late," he said. "I'm already a monster. Didn't you see what I did back there?"   
  
"All this self pity is very tedious, Starlight, " her voice told him. "I don't think we're getting anywhere."   
  
She stood up. "Do try to grow up a little, dear," she said aloud. "It's very hard to instruct someone who's so self absorbed that he won't listen."   
  
"I'll never do it again," he told her defiantly.   
  
"Oh yes, you will, Starlight. You'll learn and you'll practice and you'll develop the discipline this requires. If you don't want to do it willingly, then we'll have to do it the other way. Think about it, dear, and make up your mind - but don't take too long. It's too important to be put off." She reached out and gently touched his cheek; then she turned and walked away.   
  
" _ She's right, you know, _ " the voice in his mind told him.   
  
"You stay out of this, " Steven said.

 

\------------------   
  
In the days that followed, he avoided Aunt Pearl as much as possible, but he could not avoid her eyes. Wherever he went on the narrow ship, he knew that she was watching him, her eyes calm, speculative.   
  
Then, at breakfast on the third day out, she looked at his face rather closely as if noticing something for the first time. 

"Steven," she said, "you're starting to look shaggy. Why don't you shave?"   
  
Steven blushed furiously and put his fingers to his chin. There were definitely whiskers there - downy, soft, more like fuzz than bristles, but whiskers all the same.   
  
"Well, well well. Looks like you're truly becoming a man, Steven," Jasper assured him rather approvingly.

 

“At least  **_someone_ ** calls me Steven,” grumbled Steven under his breath.    
  
"Awww, don't make him shave it, P," Amethyst said, stroking her own luxuriant lilac mane. "Let the whiskers grow for a while. If they don't turn out well, he can always shave them off later."   
  
"I think your neutrality in the matter is suspect, Amy," Ruby remarked. "Don't most Wy-Atians wear beards?"   
  
"No razor's ever touched my face," Amethyst admitted. "But I just don't think it's the sort of thing to rush into. It's very hard to stick whiskers back on if you decide later that you wanted to keep them after all."   
  
"I think they're kind of funny," Connie said. Before Steven could stop her, she reached out two tiny fingers and tugged the soft down on his chin. He winced and blushed again.   
  
"They’re coming off," Aunt Pearl ordered firmly.   
  
Wordlessly, Bismuth went below decks. When he came back, he carried a basin, a chunk of brown-colored soap, a towel, and a fragment of mirror. 

"It isn't really hard, Steven," he said, putting the things on the table in front of the young man. Then he took a neatly folded razor out of a case at his belt. "You just have to be careful not to cut yourself, that's all. The whole secret is not to rush."   
  
"Pay close attention when you're near your nose," Ruby advised. "A man looks very strange without a nose."   
  
The shaving proceeded with a great deal of advice, and on the whole it did not turn out too badly. Most of the bleeding stopped after a few minutes, and, aside from the fact that his face felt as if it had been peeled, Steven was quite satisfied with the results.   
  
"Much better," Aunt Pearl said approvingly.    
  
"He'll catch a cold in his face now," Amethyst predicted.   
  
"Will you stop that?" she told him.

 

\--------------------------------------------   
  
The coast of Olivia slid by on their left, a blank wall of tangled vegetation, festooned with creepers and long tatters of moss. Occasional eddies in the breeze brought the foul reek of the swamps out to the ship. Steven and Connie stood together in the prow of the ship, looking toward the jungle.   
  
"What are those?" Steven asked, pointing at some large things with legs slithering around on a mud bank along a stream that emptied into the sea.   
  
"Crocodiles," Connie answered.   
  
"Crocodiles?"   
  
"They’re big lizards," she said.   
  
"Are they dangerous?"   
  
"Very dangerous. They eat people. Haven't you ever read about them?"   
  
"I can't read," Steven admitted without thinking.   
  
" **_What?_ ** "   
  
"I can't read," Steven repeated. "Nobody ever taught me how."   
  
"That's ridiculous!"   
  
"It's not my fault," he said defensively.   
  
She looked at him thoughtfully. She had seemed almost half afraid of him since the meeting with Bloodstone, and her insecurity had probably been increased by the fact that, on the whole, she had not treated him very well. 

Her first assumption that he was only a servant boy had gotten their whole relationship off on the wrong foot, but she was far too proud to admit that initial mistake. Steven could almost hear the little wheels clicking around in her head. 

 

"Would you like to have me teach you how?" she offered. It was probably the closest thing he'd ever get to an apology from her.   
  
"Would it take very long?"   
  
"That depends on how clever you are."   
  
"When do you think we could start?"   
  
She frowned. "I've got a couple of books, but we'll need something to write on."   
  
"I don't know that I need to learn how to write," he said. "Reading 'ought to be enough for right now."   
  
She laughed. "They're the same thing, you goose."   
  
"I didn't know that," Steven said, flushing slightly. "I thought-" He floundered with the whole idea. "I guess I never really thought about it," he concluded lamely. "What sort of thing do we need to write on?"   
  
"Parchment's the best," she said, "and a charcoal stick to write with - so we can rub it off and write on the parchment again."   
  
"I'll go talk to Bismuth," he decided. "He'll be able to think of something."   
  
Bismuth suggested sailcloth and a charred stick. Within an hour Steven and Connie were sitting in a sheltered spot in the bow of the ship their heads close together over a square of canvas nailed to a plank. 

Steven glanced up once and saw Aunt Pearl not far away. She was watching the two of them with an indecipherable expression. Then he lowered his eyes again to the strangely compelling symbols on the canvas.   
  
His instruction went on for the next several days. Since his fingers were naturally nimble, he quickly picked up the trick of forming the letter.   
  
"No, no," Connie said one afternoon, "you've spelled it wrong, used the wrong letters. Your name's Steven, not Starlight."   
  
His fingers froze and he felt a sudden chill and looked down at the canvas square. The name was spelled out quite clearly - " _ Starlight _ ."   
  
He looked up quickly. Aunt Pearl was standing where she usually stood, her eyes on him as always.   
  
_ "Stay  _ **_out_ ** _ of my mind!" _ He snapped the thought at her.   
  
_ "Study hard, dear, " _ her voice urged him silently.  _ "Learning of any kind is useful, and you have a great deal to learn. The sooner you get the habit, the better." _ Then she smiled, turned and walked away.   
  
The next day, Sugilite's ship reached the mouths of the River of the Serpent in central Olivia, and his men struck the sail and set their oars into the locks along the sides of the ship in preparation for the long pull upriver to Echelon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stretch* Ahhhhh it feels good to be writing again.
> 
> It's time for the final part of Volume 2! And I've got everything ship-shape and ready to sail.  
> All aboard for the last voyage, because after this is Volume 3, which will feature fan-favourites like Lapis and Peridot!


	26. Sins of the Serpentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship thought Shwar was bad. As it turns out, they've merely jumped out of the frying pan.

**THERE WAS NO AIR** . 

It seemed as if the world had suddenly been turned into a vast, reeking pool of stagnant water. 

The River of the Serpent had a hundred mouths, each creeping sluggishly through the jellied muck of the delta as if reluctant to join the boisterous waves of the sea. The reeds which grew in that vast swamp reached a height of twenty feet and were as thick as woven fabric. 

There was a tantalizing sound of a breeze brushing the tops of the reeds, but down among them, all thought or memory of breeze was lost. 

There was no air. 

The delta steamed and stank beneath a sun that did not burn so much as boil. Each breath seemed to be half water. Insects rose in clouds from the reeds and settled in mindless gluttony on every inch of exposed skin, biting, feeding on blood.

 

They were a day and a half among the reeds before they reached the first trees, low, scarcely more than bushes. The main river channel began to take shape as they moved slowly on into the Olivine heartland.

The sailors sweated and swore at their oars, and the ship moved slowly against the current, almost as if she struggled against a tide of thick oil that clung to her like some loathsome glue.

The trees grew taller, then immense. Great, gnarled roots twisted up out of the ooze along the banks like grotesquely misshapen legs, and trunks vast as castles reached up into the steaming sky. 

Ropey vines undulated down from the limbs overhead, moving, seeming to writhe with a kind of vegetable will of their own in the breathless air. 

Shaggy tatters of grayish moss descended in hundred-foot-long streamers from the trees, and the river wound spitefully in great coils that made their journey ten times as long as it needed to be.

 

"I’m calling it," Ruby grumbled, dispiritedly looking out over the bow at the weedy surface of the river ahead. She had removed her horsehide jacket and linen undertunic, everything from the waist up-- save her breast-bindings, and her torso was gleaming with sweat. Like most of them, she was covered with the angry welts of insect bites. “This place can  **_officially_ ** , Bite. My. Ass.”

"Keep that saying that and something here will," said Amethyst, similarly scarcely dressed.

One of the sailors shouted and jumped up, kicking at his oar-handle. 

Something long, slimy, and boneless had crawled unseen up his oar, seeking his flesh with an eyeless voracity.

"Leech," Bismuth said with a shudder as the hideous thing dropped with a wet plop back into the stinking river. "I've never seen one so big. It must be a foot long or more."

"Probably not a good place for swimming," Ruby observed.

"You know," Bismuth said. “Somehow I don’t doubt that.”

"Good." came a stately voice from behind them all. Aunt Pearl, wearing a light linen dress, came out of the cabin beneath the high stern where Sugilite and Amethyst were taking turns at the tiller. She had been caring for Connie, who had drooped and wilted like a flower in the brutal climate of the river.

 

" _ Can't you do something? _ " Steven demanded of her silently.

" _ About what? _ "

" _ All of this. _ " He looked around helplessly.

" _ Well, what do you want me to do? _ "

" _ Drive off the bugs, if nothing else. _ "

" _ Why don't you do it yourself, Starlight? _ "

He set his jaw firmly. 

" _ No! _ "

Inexplicably, the boat rocked, shuddering unwittingly with the force of his mental proclamation. The passengers made to steady themselves from the sudden movement, all except Aunt Pearl and Steven, who stood resolutely, staring at each other.

" _ It isn't really very hard. _ "

" _ I said no _ ."

 

She shrugged and turned away, leaving him seething with frustration. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

It took them three more days to reach Echelon. The city was embraced in a wide coil of the river and was built of black stone. 

The houses and buildings were low and for the most part were windowless. In the center of the city a vast pile of a building rose with strangely shaped spires and domes and terraces, oddly alien-looking. 

Wharves and jetties poked out into the turbid river, and Sugilite guided his ship toward one which was much larger than the rest. 

"We have to stop at customs," he explained.

"Of course we do," Bismuth said.

 

The exchange at customs was brief. Captain Sugilite announced that he was delivering the goods of Anna of Wal’kofte to the Q’zarnian trade enclave. 

Then he handed a jingling purse to the shaven-headed customs official, and the ship was allowed to proceed without inspection.

"You owe me for that, Amy," Sugilite said. "The trip here was out of friendship, but the money's something else again."

"Just write it down somewhere, Sugi,” Amethyst told him. "I'll take care of it when I get back to Van Sangria."

"If you ever get back to Van Sangria," Sugilite said sourly.

"I'm sure you'll remember me in your prayers, then," Amethyst said. "I know you pray for me all the time anyway, but now you've got a bit more incentive."

"Is every official in the whole world this corrupt?" Bismuth demanded irritably. "Doesn't anyone do his job the way it's supposed to be done without taking bribes?"

"The world would come to an end if one of them did," Ruby replied. "You and I are too simple and honest for these affairs, Bismuth. We're better off leaving this kind of thing to others."

"It's disgusting, that's all."

"Hear hear," Ruby agreed, "but I'm just as happy that the customs man didn't look below decks. We might have had some trouble explaining the horses."

 

\--------------------

 

The sailors had backed the ship into the river again and rowed toward a series of substantial wharves. 

They pulled up beside the outer wharf, shipped their oars and looped the hawsers around the tar-blackened pilings of a mooring spot.

 

"Hey wait a minute, you can't moor here," a sweaty guard ordered them from the wharf. "This is for Q'zarnian ships."

"I'll moor anywhere I goddamn want to," Sugilite said curtly.

"I'll call out the soldiers," the guard threatened. He took hold of one of their hawsers and pulled out a long knife.

"If you cut that rope, friend, I'll come down there and tear off your ears," Sugilite warned.

“Aww, hurry up and just tell him," Amethyst pouted. "It's too hot for fighting."

"My ship's carrying Q'zarnian goods," Sugilite told the guard on the wharf, "belonging to a lady named Anna-- from Wal’kofte, I think."

"Oh," the guard said, putting away his knife, "why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Because I didn't like your attitude, little man," Sugilite replied bluntly. "Where do I find the man in charge?"

"Kofi? His house is just up that street past the shops. It's the one with the Q’zarnian emblem on the door."

"I've got to talk with him," Sugilite said. "Do I need a pass to go off the wharf? I've heard some strange things about Echelon."

"You can move around inside the enclave," the guard informed him. "You only need a pass if you want to go into the city."

 

Sugilite grunted and went below. A moment later he came back with several packets of folded parchment. 

"Do you want to talk to this official?" he asked Aunt Pearl. "Or do you want me to take care of it?"

"We'd better come along," she decided. "The girl's asleep. Tell your men not to disturb her."

Sugilite nodded and spoke briefly to his first mate. The sailors ran a plank across to the wharf, and Sugilite led the way ashore. Thick clouds were rolling in overhead, darkening the sun.

The street which ran down to the wharf was lined on both sides with the shops of Q’zarnian merchants, and Olivians moved torpidly from shop to shop, stopping now and then to haggle with the sweating shop-keepers. The Olivine men all wore loose-fitting robes of a light, iridescent fabric, and their heads were all shaved completely bald. 

As he walked along behind Aunt Pearl, Steven noticed with a certain distaste that the Olivians wore elaborate makeup on their eyes, and that their lips and cheeks were rouged. Their speech was rasping and sibilant, and they all seemed to affect a lisp. Strangely, however, for all the men and women he saw, there wasn't a single gem. 

 

The heavy clouds had by now completely obscured the sky, and the street seemed suddenly dark. A dozen wretched, near-naked men were repairing a section of cobblestones. Their unkempt hair and shaggy beards indicated that they were not Olivian, and there were shackles and chains attached to their ankles. 

A huge brute of an Olivian stood over them with a whip, and the fresh welts and cuts on their bodies spoke mutely of the freedom with which he used it. 

One of the miserable slaves accidentally dropped an armload of crudely squared-off stones on his foot and opened his mouth with an animal-like howl of pain. With horror, Steven saw that the slave's tongue had been cut out.

"They reduce men to the level of animals," Jasper growled, his eyes burning with a terrible anger. "Why has this cesspool not been cleansed?"

"It was once," Amethyst said grimly. "Just after the Olivians assassinated the Hroden King, the Sangrians came down here and killed every Olivine they could find."

"Didn't seem to work out too well," Jasper said, looking around.

Amy shrugged. "It was thirteen hundred years ago. Even a single pair of rats could re-establish their species in that length of time."

 

\----------------------

 

Bismuth, who was walking beside Steven, gasped suddenly and averted his eyes, blushing furiously.

A Olivine lady had just stepped from a litter carried by eight slaves. The fabric of her pale green gown was so flimsy that it was nearly transparent and left very little to the imagination. 

"Don't look at her, Steven," Bismuth whispered hoarsely, still blushing. "She's a wicked woman."

"I'd forgotten about that," Aunt Pearl said with a thoughtful frown. "Maybe we should have left Bismuth and Steven on the ship."

"Why's she dressed like that?" Steven asked, watching the nearly nude woman.

"Undressed, you mean." Bismuth's voice was strangled with outrage.

"It's the custom," Aunt Pearl explained. "It has to do with the climate. There are some other reasons, of course, but we don't need to go into those just now. All Olivian women dress that way."

Amethyst and Sugilite were watching the woman also, though the broad grins on their faces told Steven that they were far more appreciative of the custom than he. 

"Never mind," Aunt Pearl told them firmly.

Not far away a shaven-headed Olivian stood leaning against a wall, staring at his hand and giggling senselessly. 

"I can see right through my fingers," he announced in a hissing lisp. "Right through them."

"He drunk?" Ruby asked.

"Not exactly," Aunt Pearl answered. "Olivians have peculiar amusements - leaves, berries, certain roots. Their perceptions get modified. It's a bit more serious than the common drunkenness one finds among Sangrians."

Another Olivian shambled by, his gait curiously jerky and his expression blank.

"Are they all like this?" Jasper asked.

"I've never met a Olivian yet who wasn't at least partially drugged," Aunt Pearl said. "It makes them difficult to talk to. Isn't that the house we're looking for?" 

She pointed at a solid building across the street.

There was an ominous rumble of thunder off to the south as they crossed to the large house. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

A Q’zarnian servant in a linen tunic answered their knock, let them into a dimly lighted antechamber, and told them to wait.

"An evil city," Ruby said quietly. "I can't see why any Sangrian in his right mind would come here willingly."

"Money," Captain Sugilite replied shortly. "The Olivine trade is very profitable."

"There are more important things than money in this world," Ruby muttered.

 

An impatient-looking plump man came into the dim room. 

"More light," he snapped at his servant. "You didn't have to leave them here in the dark."

"You said that the lamps just made it hotter," the servant protested in a surly tone. "I wish you'd make up your mind."

"Never mind what I said; just do as I say."

"The climate's making you incoherent, Kofi," the servant noted acidly. He lit several lamps and left the room muttering to himself.

"Q’zarnians make the world's worst servants," Kofi grumbled.

"Shall we get down to business?" He lowered himself into a chair. The sweat rolled continually down his face and into the damp collar of his brown silk robe.

"My name's Sugilite," the bearded seaman said. "I've just arrived at your wharves with a shipload of goods belonging to the merchant, Anna of Wal’kofte." He presented the folded packets of parchment.

Kofi’s eyes narrowed. "I didn't know that Anna was interested in the southern trade. I thought she dealt mostly in Delmarvia and Flaxia."

Sugilite shrugged indifferently. "I didn't ask her. She pays me to carry her goods in my ship, not to ask questions about her business."

 

Kofi looked at them all, his sweating face expressionless. Then his fingers moved slightly.

_ “Is everything here what it seems to be?” _

The Q’zarnian secret language made his fat fingers suddenly nimble.

_ “Can we speak openly here? _ ” 

Aunt Pearl’s fingers asked him. Her gestures were stately, somehow archaic. There was a kind of formality to her movements that Steven had not seen in the signs made by others.

_ “As openly as anyplace in this shit-hole. _ ” Kofi replied, “ _ You have a strange accent, lady. There's something about it that it seems I should remember _ ”

_ “I learned the language a very long time ago _ ” she replied. “ _ You know who Anna of Wal'kofte really is, of course. _ ”

"Naturally," Kofi said aloud. "Everyone knows that. Sometimes she calls herself Helena of Goku - when she wants to have dealings that are not, strictly speaking, legitimate."

"Shall we stop fencing with each other, Kofi?" Aunt Pearl asked quietly. "I'm quite certain you've received instructions from King Vladimar by now. All this dancing about is tiresome."

Kofi’s face darkened. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I'll need a bit more in the way of verification."

"Don't be stupid, Kofi," Amethyst rumbled at the fat man. "Use your eyes. You're a Sangrian; you know who the lady is."

Kofi looked suddenly at Aunt Pearl, his eyes going very wide. "It's not possible," he gasped.

"Would you like to have her prove it to you?" Ruby suggested. 

The house shook then with a sudden crash of thunder.

"No, no," Kofi refused hastily, still staring at Aunt Pearl. "It just never occurred to me - I mean, I just never-" He floundered with it.

"Have you heard from Princess Vidalia or my father?" Aunt Pearl asked crisply.

"Your father? You mean-? Is he involved in this too?"

"Really, Kofi," she said tartly, "don't you believe the communications King Vlad sends you?"

Kofi shook his head like a man trying to clear his mind. "I'm sorry, Lady Polina," he said. "You surprised me, that's all. It takes a moment to get used to. We didn't think you'd be coming this far south."

"It's obvious then that you haven't received any word from Vidalia or the old man."

"No, my Lady," Kofi said. "Nothing. Are they supposed to be here?"

"So they said. They were either going to meet us here or send word."

"It's very hard to get messages any place in Olivia," Kofi explained. "The people here aren't very reliable. The prince and your father could be upcountry, and their messenger could very well have gone astray. I sent a messenger to a place not ten leagues from the city once, and it took six months to arrive. The Olivian who was carrying it found a certain berry patch along the way. We found him sitting in the middle of the patch, smiling." Kofi made a sour face. "There was moss growing on him," he added.

"Dead?" Bismuth asked.

Kofi shrugged. "No, just very happy. He enjoyed the berries very much. I dismissed him at once, but he didn't seem to mind. For all I know, he's still sitting there."

"How extensive is your network here in Echelon?" Aunt Pearl asked.

Kofi spread his thick hands modestly. "I manage to pick up a bit of information here and there. I've got a few people in the palace and a minor official at the Shwar embassy. The Shwareans are very thorough." 

He grinned impishly. "It's cheaper to let them do all the work and then buy the information after they've gathered it."

"If you can believe what they tell you," Ruby suggested.

"I never take what they say at face value," Kofi said. "The Shwarean ambassador knows that I've bought his man. He tries to trip me up with false leads now and then."

"Does the ambassador know that you know?" Ruby asked.

"Of course he does." The fat man laughed. "But he doesn't think that I'm aware of the fact that he knows that I know." He laughed again. "It's all terribly complicated, isn't it?"

"Most Q’zarnian games usually are," Amethyst sighed.

"Does the name Andy mean anything to you?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"I've heard it, naturally," Kofi said.

"Has he been in touch with Holly Green?"

Kofi frowned. "I couldn't say for sure. I haven't heard that he has, but that doesn't mean that he hasn't. Olivia’s a murky sort of place, and Holly’s palace is the murkiest spot in the whole country. You wouldn't believe some of the things that go on there."

"I'd believe them," Aunt Pearl said, "and probably things you haven't even begun to guess." She turned back to the others. "I think we're at a standstill. We can't make any kind of move until we hear from V and the Old Wolf."

"Could I offer you my house?" Kofi asked.

"I think we'll stay on board Captain Sugilite’s ship," she told him. "As you say, Olivia’s a murky place, and I'm sure that the Shwarean ambassadors bought a few people in your establishment."

"Naturally," Kofi agreed. "But I know who they are."

"We'd better not chance it," she told him. "There are several reasons for our avoiding Shwareans just now. We'll stay aboard the ship and keep out of sight. Let us know as soon as Princess Vidalia gets in touch with you."

"Of course," Kofi said. "You'll have to wait until the rain lets up, though. Listen to it." 

There was the thundering sound of a downpour on the roof overhead.

"Will it last long?" Bismuth asked.

Kofi shrugged. "An hour or so usually. It rains every afternoon during this season."

"I imagine it helps to cool the air," the smith said.

"Not significantly," the Q'zarnian told him. "Usually it just makes things worse." He mopped the sweat from his cherubic face.

"How can you live here?" Bismuth asked.

Kofi smiled blandly. "Fat men like me don't move around all that much. I'm making a great deal of money, and the game I'm playing with the Shwarean ambassador keeps my mind occupied. It's not all that bad, once you get used to it. It helps if I keep telling myself that."

 

They sat quietly then, listening to the pounding rain.

 


	27. The Price of Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Pearl and Steven's already tenuous relationship is tried further, and revelations about her past are revealed.

**FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS** they all remained aboard Sugilite's ship, waiting for word from Vidalia and Mister Wolf.

Connie recovered from her indisposition and appeared on deck wearing a pale-colored Dryad tunic which seemed-- to Steven at least --to be only slightly less revealing than the gowns worn by Olivine women.

When he rather stiffly suggested that she ought to put on a few more layers, however, she merely laughed at him. With a single-mindedness that made him want to grind his teeth, she returned to the task of teaching him to read and write.

They sat together in an out-of the-way spot on deck, poring over a tedious book on Shwarean diplomacy.

The whole business seemed to Steven to be taking forever, though in fact his mind was very quick, and he was learning exceptionally fast. Connie, however, was too thoughtless to compliment him, though she seemed to await his next mistake almost breathlessly, delighting it seemed in each opportunity, however rare, to ridicule him.

Her proximity and her light, spicy perfume distracted him as they sat close beside each other, and he perspired as much from their occasional touch of hand or arm or hip as he did from the climate. Because they were both young, she was intolerant and he was stubborn. The sticky, humid heat made them both short-tempered and irritable, so the lessons erupted into bickering more often than not.

 

When they arose one morning, a black, square-rigged Olivian ship rocked in the river current at a nearby wharf. A foul, evil kind of reek carried to them from her on the fitful morning breeze.

"What in the world is that stench?" Steven asked one of the sailors.

"Slaves," the sailor answered grimly, pointing at the Olivine ship. "You can smell them twenty miles away when you're at sea."

Steven looked at the ugly black ship and shuddered.

Amethyst and Jasper drifted across the deck and joined Steven at the rail.

"Looks like a scow," Amy said of the Olivian ship, her voice heavy with contempt. She was stripped to the waist, and her hairy torso ran with sweat.

"It's a slave ship," Steven told him.

"It smells like an open sewer," Amethyst complained. "A good fire would improve it tremendously."

"You can say that again," Jasper said. "Olivia’s been a festering pit for slavery for many, many centuries."

"Is that a Q’zarnian wharf?" Amethyst asked with narrowed eyes.

"No," Steven answered. "The sailors say that everything on that side's Olivian."

"That sucks," Amethyst growled.

 

A group of mail-shirted men in black cloaks walked out onto the wharf where the slave ship was moored and stopped near the vessel's stern.

"Uh-oh," Amy said. "Where's Ruby?"

"She's still below decks," Steven replied. "What's the matter?"

"Keep an eye out for her. Those are Isyaki."

The shaven-headed Olivine sailors pulled open a hatch on their ship and barked a few rough orders down into the hold. Slowly, a line of dispirited-looking men came up. Each man wore an iron collar, and a long chain fastened them together.

Jasper stiffened and began to swear.

"What's wrong, sis?" Amy asked.

"Flaxenites!" the knight exclaimed. "I had heard of this, but I did not believe it."

"Heard of what?"

"An ugly rumor has persisted in Flaxia for some years," Jasper answered, his face white with rage. "We are told that some of our nobles have upon occasion enriched themselves by selling their serfs to the Olivians."

"Looks like it's more than a rumor," Amy said.

"There," Jasper growled. "See that crest upon the tunic of that one there? It's the crest of I’chir Toland. I know the Baron of I’chir Toland for a notorious spendthrift, but had not thought him dishonorable. Upon my return to Flaxia, I will denounce him publicly."

"What good's that going to do?" Amethyst asked.

"He will be forced to challenge me," Jasper said grimly. "I will prove his villainy upon his body."

Amethyst shrugged. "Serf or slave - what's the difference?"

"Those men have rights, Lord Amethyst," Jasper stated. "Their Lord is required to protect them and care for them. The oath of knighthood demands it of us. This vile transaction has stained the honor of every true Flaxen knight. I shall not rest until I have bereft that foul baron of his miserable life."

"Interesting idea," Amy said approvingly. "Maybe I'll go with you."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Ruby came up on deck just then, and Amethyst moved immediately to her side and began talking quietly to her, holding one of her arms firmly.

"Make them jump around a bit," one of the Isyaki ordered harshly. "I want to see how many are lame."

A heavy-shouldered Olivian uncoiled a long whip and began to flick it deftly at the legs of the chained men. The slaves began to dance feverishly on the wharf beside the slave ship.

" **_Motherf--_ ** " Jasper swore, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the railing.

"Easy, easy," Steven warned. "Aunt Pearl says we're supposed to stay pretty much out of sight."

"This is monstrous! You expect me to just sit here and accept this injustice!?" Jasper cried.

 

The chain that bound the slaves together was old and pitted with rust. When one slave tripped and fell, a link snapped, and the man found himself suddenly free. With an agility born of desperation, he rolled quickly to his feet, took two quick steps and plunged off the wharf into the murky waters of the river.

"This way, man!" Jasper called to the swimming slave.

The burly Olivian with the whip laughed harshly and pointed at the escaping slave.

"Watch," he told the Isyaki.

"Stop him, you idiot," one of the Isyaki snapped. "I paid good gold for him."

"It's too late." The Olivian looked on with an ugly grin. "Watch."

The swimming man suddenly shrieked and sank out of sight. When he came up again, his face and arms were covered with the slimy, footlong leeches that infested the river. Screaming, the struggling man tore at the writhing leeches, ripping out chunks of his own flesh in his efforts to pull them off.

Only then did the Isyaki begin to laugh.

Even Steven's patience with keeping up pretenses had its limits, and at the sight of such cruel callousness in the face of mortality, his mind exploded.

He gathered himself with an awful concentration, folded his hands together at the wharf just beyond their own ship and said, "Be there!" He felt an enormous surge as if some vast tide were rushing out of him, and he reeled almost senseless against Jasper. The sound inside his head was deafening.

The slave, still writhing and covered with the oozing leeches, was suddenly lying on the wharf. A wave of exhaustion swept over Steven; if Jasper had not caught him, he would have fallen.

"Whoa, where’d he go?" Amethyst demanded, still staring at the turbulent spot on the surface of the river where the slave had been an instant before. "Did he go under?"

Wordlessly and with a shaking hand, Jasper pointed, dumbfounded, at the slave, who lay still weakly struggling on the Q’zarnian wharf about twenty yards in front of the bow of their ship.

Amethyst looked at the slave, then back at the river, then at Steven’s almost prone form. The big gem blinked with surprise.

 

A small boat with four Olivians at the oars put out from the other wharf and moved deliberately toward Sugilite’s ship. A tall Isyaki stood in the bow, his scarred face angry.

"You have my property," he shouted across the intervening water. "Return the slave to me at once."

"Why don't you come and get him then, buddy?" Amy called back. She released Ruby’s arm. The red gem moved to the side of the ship, stopping only to pick up a long boathook.

"Will I be unmolested?" the Isyaki asked a bit doubtfully.

"Why don't you come alongside us, and we can discuss that last bit?" Amethyst suggested pleasantly.

"You're denying me my rights to my own property," the Isyaki complained.

"Not at all," Amethyst told him. "Of course there might be a fine point of law involved here. This wharf is Q’zarnian territory, and slavery isn't legal in Q’zarnia, I’m afraid. Since that's the case, the man's not a slave anymore."

"I'll get my men," the Isyaki said in a tenuous voice. "We'll take the slave by force if we have to."

"Ah, I think we'd have to look on that as an invasion of Sangrian territory," Amethyst warned with a great show of regret. "In the absence of our Q’zarnian cousins, we'd almost be compelled to take steps to defend their wharf for them. What do you think, Jasper?"

"Absolutely, cousin," Jasper replied. "By common usage, honorable men are morally obliged to defend the territory of kinsmen in their absence."

"There you have it," Amethyst said to the Isyaki. "You see how it is. My friend here is an Flaxen, so he's totally neutral in this matter. I think we'd have to accept his interpretation of the affair."

 

Sugilite’s sailors had begun to climb the rigging by now, and they clung to the ropes like great, evil-looking apes, fingering their weapons and grinning at the Isyaki. Clearly outnumbered, the Isyaki in the boat gulped, unsure of his next course of action. Then, he drew himself up and spoke.

"There is yet another way," the Isyaki said ominously.

Steven could feel a force beginning to build, and a faint sound seemed to echo inside his head. He drew himself up, putting his hands on the wooden rail in front of him. He felt a terrible weakness, but he steeled himself and tried to gather his strength.

"That's quite enough of that," Aunt Pearl said crisply, coming up on deck with Bismuth and Connie behind her.

"We were merely having a little legal discussion, P," Amethyst said innocently.

"Oh, I know **_exactly_ ** what you were doing," she snapped. Her eyes were angry. She looked coldly across the intervening stretch of river at the Isyaki.

"That’s it, this show is over. Leave now," she told him.

"I have something to retrieve first," the man in the boat called back.

"If I were you, I wouldn’t."

"We'll see," he said. He straightened and began muttering as if to himself, his hands moving rapidly in a series of intricate gestures. Steven felt something pushing at him almost like a wind, though the air was completely still.

"Be sure you get it right, dear," Aunt Pearl advised quietly. "If you forget even the tiniest part of it, it'll explode in your face."

The man in the boat froze, and a faintly worried frown crossed his face. The secret wind that had been pushing at Steven stopped. The man began again, his fingers weaving in the air and his face fixed with concentration. This time, the wind was stronger, and it began to push at Steven considerably. Steven made to physically steel himself against this unseen force, but then, Aunt Pearl spoke up.

"You do it like this, Isyaki," Aunt Pol said. She moved her hand slightly, and Steven felt a sudden rush as the wind’s direction reversed and begun to blow the other way. The Isyaki threw his hands up and reeled back, stumbling and falling out into the deadly waters of the river below. As if it had been given a heavy push, the boat surged backward several yards.

The Isyaki half submerged, broke the water’s surface with a look of deathly horror upon his face. He desperately clambered back towards their dinghy, reaching out with a hand that was now bereft with leeches.

"Return to your master, you dog," Aunt Pearl said under her breath. "Tell him to beat you for not learning your lessons properly."

The Isyaki, pulled onto the deck, spoke weakly to the Olivians at the oars, and they immediately turned the boat and rowed back toward the slave ship.

"We had a nice little fight brewing there, Pearl," Amy complained. "Why did you have to spoil it?"

"Oh, **_grow up_ ** ," she ordered bluntly. Then she turned on Steven, her eyes blazing and the white lock at her brow like a streak of fire. "You **_idiot!_ ** You refuse any kind of instruction from me or anyone else, and then you suddenly burst out over **_this!?_ **. Have you the slightest conception of what an uproar translocation causes? You've alerted every Isyaki in Echelon to the fact that we're here."

"But he was **_dying_ ** ," Steven protested, gesturing helplessly at the slave lying on the wharf. "I had to do **_something._ ** "

"He was dead as soon as he hit the water, Steven." she said flatly. "Look at him."

The slave had stiffened into an arched posture of mortal agony, his head twisted back and his mouth agape. He was obviously dead.

"Wait **_what?_ ** What happened to him?" Steven asked, feeling a pit forming in the centre of his stomach..

"The leeches are poisonous. Their bites paralyze their victims so that they can feed on them undisturbed. The bites stopped his heart. You exposed us to the Isyaki… for the sake of a dead man."

"He wasn't dead when I did it!" Steven shouted at her. "He was screaming for help, so I did what I thought was right!" He was angrier than he had ever been in his life.

"He was beyond help." Her voice was cold, even brutal.

"What kind of monster are you?" he asked from between clenched teeth. "Don't you have any feelings? You'd have just let him die, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think this is the time or place to discuss it."

"No! This is exactly the time! Right here, right now, Aunt Pearl. You're not even human, did you know that? Do you know how inhuman you sound? You left being human behind so long ago that you can't even remember where you lost it. You're four thousand years old. Our whole lives go by while you blink your eyes. We're just **_entertainment_ ** for you, aren’t we, - an hour's diversion. You manipulate us like puppets for your own amusement. Well, I'm tired of being manipulated. You and I are done, you hear me? **_DONE._ ** "

It probably went further than he'd intended, but his anger had finally run away with him, and the words seemed to rush out before he could stop them.

She looked at him, her face as pale as the time Rohk had struck her across the face in the woods. Then she drew herself up and spoke. "You.. stupid boy," she said in a voice that was all the more terrible because it was so quiet. " **_Finished?_ ** You and I? How can you even begin to understand what I've had to do to bring you to this world? You've been my **_only_ ** care for over a thousand years. I've endured anguish and loss and pain beyond your ability to **_understand_ ** what the words mean - all for you. I've lived in **_poverty_ ** and **_squalor_ ** for hundreds of years at a time - all for you. I gave up a sister I loved more than life itself - all for you. I've gone through fire and despair worse than hell itself a dozen times over - all for you. And you think this has all been an entertainment for me? - some idle amusement? You think the kind of care I've devoted to you for a thousand years and more comes **_cheaply_ ** ? You and I will never be finished, Starlight. Never! We will go on together until the end of days if necessary. We will never be finished. **_You owe me too much for that!_ ** "

There was a dreadful silence. The others, shocked by the intensity of Aunt Pearl's words, stood staring first at her and then at Steven.

Without speaking further, she turned and went below decks again. Steven looked around helplessly, suddenly terribly ashamed and terribly alone.

A long, dreadful silence hung in the air.

 

"I had to do it... didn't I?" he asked of no one in particular and not entirely sure exactly what it was that he meant.

 

They all looked at him, but no one answered his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter with Boot's words in my head. I mean, I wrote Aunt Pearl to be this sort of, firm, unforgiving authoritative character, but I didn't really put into perspective why she is the way she is.
> 
> She can be harsh, and mean and downright cruel at times, and they're not all justified, but it must be understood that that rage and practised misanthropy comes from a lifetime of suffering. A lifetime of grief.
> 
> She has seen things no one would believe. She has lost things no one would ever understand, and she knows things, secrets that must never be told. Knowledge that would make even the most powerful of beings quake with fear. This is the burden she bears. This is the price of her power.  
> As much as she would like to excuse Steven's well-intended sentimentality...
> 
> She can't.


	28. Shadowy Thoughts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven is left alone with his conscience, and Connie. And some uninvited guests.

**BY MIDAFTERNOON THE CLOUDS** had rolled in again, and the thunder began to rumble off in the distance as the rain swept in to drown the steaming city once more. The afternoon thunderstorm seemed to come at the same time each day, and they had even grown accustomed to it. They all moved below deck and sat sweltering as the rain roared down on the deck above them.

Steven sat stiffly, his back planted against a rough-hewn oak rib of the ship and watched Aunt Pearl, his face set stubbornly and his eyes unforgiving.

She met his gaze-- not evenly with that irritatingly dispassionate face as she usually did, but rather with a measured scowl that crackled with dark energy. She sat talking quietly with Connie.

 

Captain Sugilite came through the narrow companionway door, his face and beard streaming water. "The Q’zarnian-Kofi-is here," he told them. "He says he's got word for you."

"Send him in," Amethyst said.

Kofi squeezed his considerable bulk through the narrow door. He was totally drenched from the rain and stood dripping on the floor. He wiped his face. 

"Sure is wet out there," he commented.

"We noticed," Ruby said.

"I've received a message," Kofi told Aunt Pearl. "It's from Princess Vidalia."

" **_Finally_ ** ," she said.

"She and Gregarion are coming downriver," Kofi reported. "As closely as I can make out, they should be here in a few days - a week at the most. The messenger isn't very coherent."

Aunt Pearl looked at him inquiringly.

"Fever," Kofi explained. "The man's a Q’zarnian, so he's reliable - one of my agents at an upcountry trading post - but he's picked up one of the innumerable diseases that infest this stinking swamp. He's a little delirious just now. We hope we can break the fever in a day or so and get some sense out of him. I came as soon as I got the general idea of his message. I thought you'd want to know immediately."

"We appreciate your concern," Aunt Pearl said.

"I'd have sent a servant," Kofi explained, "but messages sometimes go astray in Echelon, and servants sometimes get usurped." He grinned suddenly. "That's not the real reason, of course."

Aunt Pearl smiled, "Of course not."

"A fat man tends to stay in one place and let others do his walking around for him. From the tone of King Vladimar's message, I gather that this business might be the most important thing happening in the world just now. I wanted to be a part of it." He said sheepishly. "We all lapse into childishness from time to time, I suppose."

"How serious is the condition of the messenger?" Aunt Pearl asked.

Kofi shrugged. "Who can say? Half of these pestilential fevers in Olivia don't even have names, and we can't really tell one from another. Sometimes people die very quickly from them; sometimes they linger for weeks. Now and then someone even recovers. About all we can do is make them comfortable and wait to see what happens."

"I'll come at once," Aunt Pearl said, rising. "Oh Bismuth, would you get me the green bag from our packs? I'll need the herbs I have in it."

"It's not always a good idea to expose oneself to some of these fevers, my Lady," Kofi cautioned.

"I’ll live," she said. "I want to question your messenger closely, and the only way I'll be able to get any answers from him is to rid him of his fever."

"Bismuth and I'll come along," Amethyst offered.

She looked at him.

"It doesn't hurt to be on the safe side," the big gem said, belting on her mail shirt.

"If you wish." She put on her cloak and turned up the hood. "This may take most of the night," she told Sugilite. "There are Mareks about, so have your sailors stay alert. Put a few of the more sober ones on watch."

"Sober, my Lady?" Sugilite asked innocently.

"I've heard the singing coming from the crew's quarters, Captain," she said a bit primly, "Wy-Atians don't sing unless they're drunk. Keep the lid on your ale-barrel tonight. Shall we go, Kofi?"

"At once, my Lady," the plump man assented with a sly look at Sugilite.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Steven felt a certain relief after they had gone. The strain of maintaining his rancor in Aunt Pearl's presence had begun to wear on him. He found himself in a difficult position. The horror and self-loathing which had gnawed at him since he had unleashed the dreadful fire upon Bloodstone in the Wood of the Dryads had grown until he could scarcely bear it. 

He looked forward to each night with dread, for his dreams were always the same. 

Over and over again he saw Bloodstone, his face burned away, pleading, "Master, have mercy." 

And over and over again he saw the awful blue flame that had come from his own hand in answer to that agony. The hatred he had carried since Van Sangria had died in that flame. 

His revenge had been so absolute that there was no possible way he could evade or shift the responsibility for it. His outburst that morning had been directed almost more at himself than at Aunt Pearl, He had called her a monster, but it was the monster within himself he hated. 

The dreadful catalogue of what she had suffered over uncounted years for him and the passion with which she had spoken - evidence of the pain his words had caused her - twisted searingly in his mind. 

He was ashamed, so ashamed that he could not even bear to look into the faces of his friends. He sat alone and vacant-eyed with Aunt Pearl's words thundering over and over in his mind.

The rain slackened on the deck above them as the storm passed. Swirling little eddies of raindrops ran across the muddy surface of the river in the fitful wind. The sky began to clear, and the sun sank into the roiling clouds, staining them an angry red. Steven went up on deck to wrestle alone with his troubled conscience.

After a while he heard a light step behind him. 

"I suppose you're proud of yourself?" Connie asked acidly.  _ Oh no. Not her. _

"Leave me alone."

"I don't think so. I think I want to tell you just exactly how we all felt about your little speech this morning."

"I don't want to hear it."

"That's too bad. I'm going to tell you anyway."

"I won't listen."

"Oh yes, you will," She took him by the arm and turned him around. Her eyes were blazing and her tiny face was filled with ire. "What you did was absolutely inexcusable," she said. "Your Aunt raised you from a baby. She's been a mother to you."

"My mother's dead."

"The Lady Polina’s the only mother you ever knew, and what did you give her for thanks? You called her a monster. You accused her of not caring."

" **_I'm not listening to you_ ** ," Steven cried. Knowing that it was childish - even infantile - he put his hands over his ears. The Princess Connie always seemed to bring out the worst in him.

"Move your hands!" she commanded in a ringing voice. "You're going to hear me even if I have to scream."

Steven, afraid that she meant it, took his hands away.

"She carried you when you were a baby," Connie went on, seeming to know exactly where the sorest spot on Steven's wounded conscience lay. "She watched your very first steps. She fed you; she watched over you; she held you when you were afraid or hurt. Does that sound like a monster? She watches you all the time, did you know that? If you even so much as stumble, she almost reaches out to catch you. I've seen her cover you when you're asleep. Does that sound like someone who doesn't care?"

"You're talking about something you don't understand," Steven told her. "Please, just leave me alone."

" **_Please?_ ** " she repeated mockingly. "What a strange time for you to remember your manners. I didn't hear you saying  **_please_ ** this morning. I didn't hear a single  **_please_ ** . I didn't hear any thank you's either. Do you know what you are, Steven? You're a  **_spoiled child_ ** , that's what you are."

 

_ That did it! _ To have this pampered, willful little princess call him a spoiled child was more than Steven could bear. Infuriated, he began to shout at her. Most of what he said was wildly incoherent, but the shouting made him feel better.

They started with accusations, but the argument soon degenerated into name-calling. Connie was screeching like a Canaar fishwife, and Steven's voice cracked and warbled between a manly baritone and a boyish tenor. 

They shook their fingers in each other's faces and shouted. Connie stamped her feet, and Steven waved his arms. All in all, it was a splendid little fight. Steven felt much better when it was over. Yelling insults at Connie was an innocent diversion compared to some of the deadly things he'd said to Aunt Pearl that morning, and it allowed him to vent his confusion and anger harmlessly.

 

In the end, of course, Connie resorted to tears and fled, leaving him feeling more foolish than ashamed. 

He fumed a bit, muttering a few choice insults he hadn't had the opportunity to deliver, and then he sighed and leaned pensively on the rail to watch night settle in over the dank city.

Though he would not have cared to admit it, even to himself, he was grateful to the princess. Their descent into absurdity had cleared his head. Quite clearly now he saw that he owed Aunt Pearl an apology. He had lashed out at her out of his own sense of deep-seated guilt, trying somehow to project the blame onto her. Quite obviously there was no way to evade his own responsibility. Having accepted that, he seemed for some reason to feel better.

 

\----------------------

 

It grew darker. The tropical night was heavy, and the smell of rotting vegetation and stagnant water rolled in out of the trackless swamps. A vicious little insect crawled down inside his tunic and began to bite him somewhere between his shoulders where he could not reach.

 

There was absolutely no warning - no sound or lurch of the ship or any hint of danger. His arms were seized from behind and a wet cloth was pressed firmly over his mouth and nose. He tried to struggle, but the hands holding him were very strong. He tried to twist his head to get his face clear enough to shout for help. The cloth smelled strange - cloying, sickeningly sweet, thick somehow. He began to feel dizzy, and his struggles grew weaker. 

 

He made one last effort before the dizziness overcame him and he sank down into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tired tonight, so I cut the chapter in half to publish one out. Believe it or not, we're nearing the end of this volume. I think I've found a way to wrap this up in a satisfying manner without appearing like I'm rushing it, though I can't guarantee everyone will like what I did to Holly.


	29. Of Serpents and Syncophants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abducted and held against his will, Steven learns what it means to think like a snake.

**THEY WERE IN A LONG HALLWAY** of some sort. Steven could see the flagstone floor quite clearly. Three men were carrying him face down, and his head bobbed and swung on his neck uncomfortably. His mouth was dry, and the thick, sweet smell that had impregnated the cloth they had crushed to his face lingered. He raised his head, trying to look around.   
  
"He's awake," the man holding one of his arms said.   
  
"Finally," one of the others muttered. "You held the cloth to his face too long, Spinel."   
  
"I know what I'm doing," the first one said.   
  
"Put him down."   
  
"Can you stand?" Spinel asked Steven. His shaved head was stubbled, and he had a long scar running from his forehead to his chin directly through the puckered vacancy of an empty eye-socket. His belted robe was stained and spotted.   
  
"Stand up please," Spinel ordered in a hissing kind of voice. He nudged Steven with his foot. Steven struggled to rise. His knees were shaky, and he put his hand on the wall to steady himself. The stones were damp and covered with a kind of mold.   
  
"Bring him," Spinel told the others. They took Steven's arms and half-dragged, half-carried him down the damp passageway behind the one-eyed man. When they came out of the corridor, they were in a vaulted area that seemed not so much like a room but rather a large roofed place. 

Huge pillars, covered with carvings, supported the soaring ceiling, and small oil lamps hung on long chains from above or sat on little stone shelves on the pillars. There was a confused sense of movement as groups of men in varicolored robes drifted from place to place in a kind of languorous stupor.   
  
"You," Spinel snapped at a plump young man with dreamy eyes, "tell Emerald, the chief Serpent, that we have the boy."   
  
"Tell him yourself," the young man said in a piping voice. "I don't take orders from your kind, Spinel."   
  
Spinel slapped the plump young man sharply across the face.   
  
"You hit me!" the plump one wailed, putting his hand to his mouth. "You made my lip bleed - see?" He held out his hand to show the blood.   
  
"If you don't do what I tell you to do, I'll cut your fat throat," Spinel told him in a flat, unemotional voice.   
  
"I'm going to tell Emerald what you did."   
  
"Go ahead. And as long as you're there, tell him that we've got the boy the queen wanted."   
  
The plump young man scurried away.   
  
"Eunuchs!" One of the men holding Steven's arm spat.   
  
"They have their uses," the other said with a coarse laugh.   
  
"Bring the boy," Spinel ordered. "Emerald doesn't like to be kept waiting."

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
They pulled Steven across the lighted area.   
  
A group of wretched-looking men with unkempt hair and beards sat chained together on the floor. "Water," one of them croaked. "Please." He stretched out an imploring hand.   
  
Spinel stopped and stared at the slave in amazement. "Why does this one still have its tongue?" he demanded of the guard who stood over the slaves.   
  
The guard shrugged. "We haven't had time to attend to that yet."   
  
"Take time," Spinel told him. "If one of the priests hear it talk, they'll have you questioned. You wouldn't like that."   
  
"I'm not afraid of the priests," the guard said, but he looked nervously over his shoulder.   
  
"Be afraid," Spinel advised him. "And water these animals. They're no good to anybody dead." He started to lead the men holding Steven through a shadowy area between two pillars, then stopped again. "Get out of my way," he said to something lying in the shadows. Grudgingly, the thing began to move. With revulsion Steven realized that it was a large snake.   
  
"Get over there with the others," Spinel told the snake. He pointed toward a dimly lighted corner where a large mass seemed to be undulating, moving with a kind of sluggish seething. Faintly Steven could hear the dry hiss of scales rubbing together. The snake which had barred their way flicked a nervous tongue at Spinel, then slithered toward the dim corner.   
  
"Someday you're going to get bitten, Spinel," one of the men warned. "They don't like being ordered around."   
  
Spinel shrugged indifferently and moved on.   
  
"Emerald wants to talk to you," the plump young eunuch said spitefully to Spinel as they approached a large polished door. "I told him that you hit me. Monty is with him."   
  
"Good," Spinel said. He pushed the door open. "Emerald," he called sharply, "tell your friend I'm coming in. I don't want him making any mistakes."   
  
"He knows you, Spinel," a voice on the other side of the door said. "He won't do anything by mistake."   
  
Spinel went in and closed the door behind him.   
  
"You can leave now," one of the men holding Steven told the young eunuch.   
  
The plump one sniffed. "I go where Emerald tells me to go."   
  
"And come running when Emerald whistles, too."   
  
"That's between Emerald and me, isn't it?"   
  
"Bring him in," Spinel ordered, opening the door again.   
  
The two men pushed Steven into the room. "We'll wait out here," one of them said nervously.   
  
Spinel laughed harshly, pushed the door shut with his foot, and pulled Steven to the front of a table where a single oil lamp flickered with a tiny flame that barely held back the darkness. A thin man with deadlooking eyes sat at the table, lightly stroking his hairless head with the long fingers of one hand.   
  
"Can you speak, boy?" he asked Steven. His voice had a strange contralto quality to it, and his silk robe was a solid crimson rather than varicolored.   
  
"Could I have a drink of water?" Steven asked.   
  
"In a minute."   
  
"I'll take my money now, Emerald," Spinel said.   
  
"As soon as we're sure this is the right boy," Emerald replied.   
  
"Ask it what its name issss," a hissing whisper said from the darkness behind Steven.   
  
"I will, Monty." Emerald looked faintly annoyed at the suggestion. "I've done this before."   
  
"You're taking too long," the whisper said.   
  
"Say your name, boy," Emerald told Steven.   
  
"Onion," Steven lied quickly. "I'm really very thirsty."   
  
"Do you take me for a fool, Spinel?" Emerald asked. "Did you think just any boy would satisfy me?"   
  
"This is the boy you told me to fetch," Spinel said. "I can't help it if your information was wrong."   
  
"You say your name is… Onion?" Emerald asked.   
  
"Yes," Steven said. "I'm the cabin-boy on Captain Sugilite's ship. Where are we?"   
  
"I'll ask the questions, boy," Emerald said.   
  
"It'ssss lying," the sibilant whisper came from behind Steven.   
  
"I know that, Monty," Emerald replied calmly. "They always do at first."   
  
"We don't have time for all this," the hiss said. "Give it oret. I need the truth immediately."   
  
"Whatever you say, Monty," Emerald agreed. He rose to his feet and disappeared momentarily into the shadows behind the table. Steven heard a clink and then the sound of water pouring. "Remembering that this was your idea, Monty. If she becomes angry about it, I don't want to be the one she blames."   
  
"She'll undersssstand, Emerald."   
  
"Here, boy," Emerald offered, coming back into the light and holding out a brown earthenware cup.   
  
"Uh-no, thank you," Steven said. "I guess I'm not really thirsty after all."   
  
"You might as well drink it, boy," Emerald told him. "If you don't, Spinel will hold you, and I'll pour it down your throat. It isn't going to hurt you, so just drink it.”   
  
"Drink," the hissing voice commanded.   
  
"Better do as they say," Spinel shrugged.   
  
Helplessly Steven took the cup. The water had a strangely bitter taste and seemed to burn his tongue.   
  
"Much better," Emerald said, resuming his seat behind the table. "Now, you say your name is Onion?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Where are you from, Onion?"   
  
"Delmarvia."   
  
"Where exactly in Delmarvia?"   
  
"Near Wollock on the north coast."   
  
"What are you doing on a Wy-Atian schooner?"   
  
"Captain Sugilite's a friend of my father," Steven said. For some reason he suddenly wanted to explain further. "My father wanted me to learn about ships. He says that being a sailor's better than being a farmer. Captain Sugilite agreed to teach me what I'd need to know to be a sailor. He says I'll be good at it because I didn't even get seasick, and I'm not afraid to climb up the ropes that hold the sails in place, and I'm almost strong enough to pull an oar already, and-"   
  
"What did you say your name was, boy?"   
  
"Steven - I mean - uh - Onion. Yes, Onion, and-"   
  
"How old are you, Steven?"   
  
"Fifteen last Festivale. Aunt Pearl says that people who are born on the Festivale are very lucky, only I haven't noticed that I'm luckier than-"   
  
"And who is Aunt Pearl?"   
  
"She's my aunt. We used to live on Alger’s farm, but Mister Wolf came and we-"   
  
"Do people call her something besides Aunt Pearl?"   
  
"King Dewey called her Polina- that was when Captain Brando took us all to the palace in Delmar. Then we went to King Thur-Man’s palace in Van Sangria, and-"   
  
"Who's Mister Wolf?"   
  
"My grandfather. They call him Gregarion, or Greg, or Mister Wolf… or Greg. I didn't used to believe it, but I guess it has to be true because one time he-"   
  
"And why did you all leave Alger’s farm?"   
  
"I didn't know why at first, but then I found out that it was because Andy stole the Grey Ward off the pommel of the Sword of the Hroden King, and we've got to get it back before Andy can take it to Black and wake her up and-"   
  
"Thisss is the boy we want," the hissing voice whispered.

 

\--------------------   
  
Steven turned around slowly. The room seemed brighter now, as if the tiny flame were putting out more light. In the corner, rearing out of its own coils and with a strangely flattened neck and glowing eyes was a very large snake.   
  
"We can take it to Holly Green now," the snake hissed. It lowered itself to the floor and crawled across to Steven. He felt its cold, dry nose touch his leg, and then, though a hidden part of his mind shrieked, he stood unresisting as the scaly body slowly mounted his leg and coiled upward until the snake's head reared beside his face and its flickering tongue touched his face. 

 

"Be very good, boy," the snake hissed in his ear, "very, very good." The reptile was heavy, and its coils thick and cold.   
  
"This way, boy," Emerald told Steven, rising to his feet.   
  
"I want my money," Spinel demanded.   
  
"Oh," Emerald said almost contemptuously, " **_that_ ** . It's in that pouch there on the table." Then he turned and led Steven from the room.   
  
"Steven." The dry voice that had always been in his mind spoke quietly to him. "I want you to listen carefully. Don't say anything or let anything show on your face. Just listen to me. "   
  
"Who are you?" Steven asked silently, struggling with the fog in his brain.   
  
"You know me, " the dry voice told him. "Now listen. They've given you something that makes you do what they want you to do. Don't fight against it. Just relax and don't fight it. "   
  
"But - I said things I shouldn't have. I-"   
  
"That doesn't matter now. Just do as I say. If anything happens and it starts to get dangerous,  **_don't fight_ ** . I'll take care of it - but I can't do it if you're struggling. You have to relax so that I can do what has to be done. If you suddenly find yourself doing things or saying things you don't understand, don't be afraid and don't try to fight. It won't be them; it will be me."   
  
Comforted by this silent reassurance, Steven walked obediently beside Emerald the eunuch while the coils of the snake, Monty, lay heavily about his chest and shoulders and the bluntly pointed reptilian head rested, almost nuzzling, against his cheek.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
They entered a large room where the walls were heavily draped and crystal oil lamps hung glittering on silver chains. An enormous stone statue, its upper third lost in the shadows high above, raised its mass titanically at one end of the room, and directly in front of the statue was a low stone platform, carpeted and strewn with cushions. Upon the platform stood a heavy divan that was not quite a chair and not quite a couch.   
  
There was a woman on the divan. Her hair was a brilliant emerald green, cascading in loose coils down her back and across her shoulders. About her head was an intricately wrought golden crown sparkling with jewels. Her gown was white and spun of the filmiest gauze. It did not in any way conceal her body, but rather seemed to be worn only to provide a material to which her jewels and adornments could be attached. Beneath the gauze, her skin was an almost pale chartreuse, and her face was extraordinarily beautiful. Her eyes were pale, even colorless. A large, gold-framed mirror stood on a pedestal at one side of the divan, and the woman lounged at ease, admiring herself in the glass.   
  
Two dozen shaven-headed eunuchs in crimson robes knelt in a cluster to one side of the dais, resting on their haunches and gazing at the woman and the statue behind her with worshipful adoration.   
  
Among the cushions at the side of the divan lolled an indolent, pampered-looking young man whose head was not shaved. His hair was cut to a straight edge, making the top of his head look flat. His cheeks were rouged, and his eyes were fantastically made up. He wore only the briefest of loincloths, and his expression was bored and sulky. The woman absently ran the fingers of one hand through his crisp trim as she watched herself in the mirror.   
  
"The queen has visitors," one of the kneeling eunuchs announced in a singsong voice.   
  
"Ah," the others chanted in unison, "visitors."   
  
"Hail, the Eternal Agate," Emerald the eunuch said, prostrating himself before the dais and the pale-eyed woman.   
  
"What is it, Emerald?" she demanded. Her voice was vibrant and had a strange, dark timbre.   
  
"The boy, my Queen," Emerald announced, his face still pressed to the floor.   
  
"On your knees before the Serpent Queen," the snake hissed in Steven's ear. The coils tightened about Steven's body, and he fell to his knees in their sudden crushing grip.   
  
"Come here, Monty," said Holly Green Agate to the snake.   
  
"The queen summons the beloved serpent," the eunuch intoned. "Ah."   
  
The reptile uncoiled itself from about Steven's body and undulated up to the foot of the divan, reared half its length above the reclining woman and then lowered itself upon her body, its thick length curving, fitting itself to her. The blunt head reached up to her face, and she kissed it affectionately. The long, forked tongue flickered over her face, and Monty began to whisper sibilantly in her ear. She lay in the embrace of the serpent, listening to its hissing voice and looking at Steven with heavy-lidded eyes.   
  
Then, pushing the reptile aside, the queen rose to her feet and stood over Steven. "Welcome to the land of the snake-people, Starlight," she said in her purring voice.   
  
The name, which he had heard only from Aunt Pearl before, sent a strange shock through Steven, and he tried to shake the fog from his head.   
  
" **_Not yet,_ ** " the dry voice in his mind warned him.   
  
Holly Green stepped down from the dais, her body moving with a sinuous grace beneath her transparent gown. She took one of Steven's arms and drew him gently to his feet; then she touched his face lingeringly. Her hand seemed very cold. 

 

"A pretty young man," she breathed, almost as if to herself. "So young. So warm." Her look seemed somehow hungry.   
  
A strange confusion seemed to fill Steven's mind. The bitter drink Emerald had given him still lay on his consciousness like a blanket. Beneath it he felt at once afraid and yet strangely attracted to the queen. Her chalky skin and dead eyes were repellent, yet there was a kind of lush invitation about her, an overripe promise of unspeakable delights. Unconsciously he took a step backward.   
  
"Don't be afraid, my Starlight," she purred at him. "I won't hurt you - not unless you want me to. Your duties here will be very pleasant, and I can teach you things that Polina hasn't even dreamed of."   
  
"Come away from him, Holly," the young man on the dais ordered petulantly. "You know I don't like it when you pay attention to others."   
  
A flicker of annoyance showed in the queen's eyes. She turned and looked rather coldly at the young man. "What you like or don't like doesn't really concern me anymore, Rutile," she said.   
  
"What?" Rutile cried incredulously. "Do as I say at once!"   
  
" **_No_ ** , Rutile," she told him.   
  
"I'll punish you," he threatened.   
  
"No," she said, "you won't. That sort of thing doesn't amuse me anymore, and all your pouting and tantrums have begun to grow boring. Leave now."   
  
"Leave?" Rutile’s eyes bulged with disbelief.   
  
"You're dismissed, Rutile."   
  
"Dismissed? But you can't live without me. You said so yourself."   
  
"We all say things we don't mean sometimes."   
  
The arrogance went out of the young man like water poured from a bucket. He swallowed hard and began to tremble. "When do you want me to come back?" he whined.   
  
"I don't, Rutile."   
  
"Never?" he gasped.   
  
"Never," she told him. "Now go, and stop making a scene."   
  
"What's to become of me?" Rutile cried. He began to weep, the makeup around his eyes running in grotesque streaks down his face.   
  
"Don't be tiresome, Rutile," Holly sighed. "Pick up your belongings and leave--  **_now!_ ** I have a new consort." She stepped back up on the dais.   
  
"The queen has chosen a consort," the eunuch intoned.   
  
"Ah," the others chanted. "Hail the consort of the Eternal Agate, most fortunate of men."   
  
The sobbing young man grabbed up a pink robe and an ornately carved jewel box. He stumbled down from the dais. 

"You did this," he accused Steven. "It's all your fault." Suddenly, something glowed from behind his back as he produced a small dagger. "I'll fix you," he screamed, raising the dagger to strike.   
  
There was no thought this time, no gathering of will. The surge of force came without warning, pushing Rutile away, driving him back. He slashed futilely at the air with his little knife. Then the surge was gone.   
  
Rutile lunged forward again, his eyes insane and his dagger raised. The surge came again, stronger this time. The young man was spun away. He fell, and his dagger clattered across the floor.   
  
Holly Green Agate, her eyes ablaze, pointed at the prostrate Rutile and snapped her fingers twice. So fast that it seemed almost like an arrow loosed from a bow, a small green snake shot from beneath the divan, its mouth agape and its hiss a kind of snarl. It struck once, hitting Rutile high on the leg, then slithered quickly to one side and watched with dead eyes.   
  
Rutile gasped and turned white with horror. He tried to rise, but his legs and arms suddenly sprawled out from under him on the polished stones. He gave one strangled cry and then the convulsions began. His heels pattered rapidly on the floor, and his arms flailed wildly. His eyes turned vacant and staring, and a green froth shot like a fountain from his mouth. His body arched back, every muscle writhing beneath his skin, and his head began to pound on the floor. He gave one thrashing, convulsive leap, his entire body bounding up from the floor. When he came down, he was dead.   
  
Holly Green watched him die, her pale eyes expressionless, incurious, with no hint of anger or regret.   
  
"Justice is done," the eunuch announced.   
  
"Swift is the justice of the Queen of the Serpent People," the others replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not our Rutile twins. Just another Rutile who thought he was an important character.
> 
> Big mistake on his part.
> 
> The Rutile twins WILL be included though. Just not in this volume.


	30. Soporific Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Successfully subdued by sedative-like substances, Steven's other mind awakens to take the wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I shouldn't be spoiling this, but I'm planning on making the disembodied voice a person from Steven's past. I'm sure you can guess who that will be, but props to you if you've already had an inkling of it before I said it here :)

**THERE WERE OTHER THINGS** they made him drink - some bitter, some sickeningly sweet - and his mind seemed to sink deeper with each cup he raised to his lips. His eyes began to play strange tricks on him. It seemed somehow that the world had suddenly been drowned and that all of this was taking place under water. 

The walls wavered and the figures of the kneeling eunuchs seemed to sway and undulate like seaweed in the endless wash and eddy of tide and current. The lamps sparkled like jewels, casting out brilliant colors in slow-falling showers. 

 

Steven slumped, all bemused, on the dais near Holly's divan, his eyes filled with light and his head washed clean of all thought. There was no sense of time, no desire, no will. He briefly and rather vaguely remembered his friends, but the knowledge that he would never see them again brought only a brief, passing regret, a temporary melancholy that was rather pleasant. He even shed one crystal tear over his loss, but the tear landed on his wrist and sparkled with such an unearthly beauty that he lost himself utterly in contemplating it.

"How  **_did_ ** he do it?" the queen's voice said somewhere behind him. Her voice was so beautifully musical that the sound of it pierced Steven's very soul.

"It has power," Monty replied, his serpent voice thrilling Steven's nerves, vibrating them like the strings of a lute. "Its power is untried, undirected, but it is very strong. Beware of this one, esteemed Agate. It can destroy quite by accident."

"I will control him," she said.

"Perhaps," the snake replied.

"Sorcery requires will," Holly pointed out. "I will take his will away from him. Your blood is cold, Monty, and you've never felt the fire that fills the veins with the taste of maret or rathe or athaliss. Your passions are also cold, and you can't know how much the body can be used to enslave the will. I'll put his mind to sleep and then smother his will with love."

"Love, my Agate?" the snake asked, sounding faintly amused.

"The term serves as well as any other," she replied. "Call it appetite, if you wish."

"That I can understand," Monty agreed. "But don't underestimate this one - or overestimate your own power. It does not have an ordinary mind. There's something strange about it that I can't quite penetrate."

"We'll see," she said. "Emerald," she called the one-eyed gem.

"Yes, my Queen?"

"Take the boy. Have him bathed and perfumed. He smells of boats and tar and salt water. I don't like such Sangrian smells."

"At once, Eternal Agate."

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Steven was led away to a place where there was warm water. His clothes were taken from him, and he was immersed and soaped and immersed again.

Fragrant oils were rubbed into his skin, and a brief loincloth was tied about his waist. Then he was taken quite firmly by the chin and rouge was applied to his cheeks. It was during this process that he realized that the person painting his face was a woman. 

Slowly, almost incuriously, he let his eyes move around the bath chamber. He realized then that except for Emerald, everyone there was female. It seemed that something about that should bother him - something having to do with appearing naked in the presence of women - but he could not exactly remember what it was.

When the woman had finished painting his face, Emerald the gem took his arm and led him again through the dim, endless corridors back to the room where Holly Green half lay on her divan beneath the statue, admiring herself in the pedestaled mirror beside her.

 

"Much better," she said, looking Steven up and down with a certain appreciation. "He's much more muscular than I thought. Bring him here."

Emerald led Steven to the side of the queen's divan and gently pressed him down onto the cushions where Rutile had lounged.

 

Holly reached out with a lingeringly slow hand and brushed her cold fingertips across his face and chest. Her pale eyes seemed to burn, and her lips parted slightly. Steven's eyes fixed themselves on her pale arm. There was no trace of hair on that white skin.

"Smooth," he said vaguely, struggling to focus on that peculiarity.

"Of course, my darling Starlight," she murmured. "Serpents are hairless, and I am the queen of the serpents."

Slowly, puzzled, he raised his eyes to the lustrous lime-green tresses tumbling down across one of her white shoulders.

"Only this," she said, touching the curls with a sensuous kind of vanity.

"How?" he asked.

"It's a secret." She laughed. "Someday perhaps I'll show you. Would you like that?"

"I suppose so."

"Tell me, Starlight," she said, "do you think I'm beautiful?"

"I think so."

"How old would you say I am?" She spread her arms so that he could see her body through the filmy gauze of her gown.

"I don't know," Steven said. "Older than I am, but not too old." A brief flicker of annoyance crossed her face. " **_Guess,_ ** " she ordered somewhat harshly.

"Thirty perhaps," he decided, confused.

" **_Thirty?_ ** " Her voice was stricken. Swiftly she turned to her mirror and examined her face minutely. "You're blind, you idiot!" she snapped, still staring at herself in the glass. "That's not the face of a woman of thirty. Twenty-three - twenty-five at the most."

"Whatever you say," he agreed.

"Twenty-three," she stated firmly. "Not a  **_single_ ** day over twenty-three."

"Of course," he said mildly.

"Would you believe that I'm nearly sixty?" she demanded, her eyes suddenly flint-hard.

"What? No, of course not," Steven denied. "I couldn't believe that - not sixty."

"What a charming boy you are, Starlight," she breathed at him, her glance melting. Her fingers returned to his face, touching, stroking, caressing. 

 

Slowly, beneath the pale skin of her naked shoulder and throat, curious patches of color began to appear, a faint mottling of green and purple that seemed to shift and pulsate, growing first quite visible and then fading. Her lips parted again, and her breathing grew faster. The mottling spread down her torso beneath her transparent gown, the colors seeming to writhe beneath her skin.

Monty crept nearer, his dead eyes suddenly coming awake with a strange adoration. The vivid pattern of his own scaly skin so nearly matched the colors that began to emerge upon the body of the Serpent Queen that when he draped a caressing coil across one of her shoulders it became impossible to say exactly where lay the boundary between the snake and the woman.

Had Steven not been in a half stupor, he would have recoiled from the queen. Her colorless eyes and mottled skin seemed reptilian, and her openly lustful expression spoke of some dreadful hunger. Yet there was a curious attraction about her. Helplessly he felt drawn by her blatant sensuality.

"Come closer, my dear," she ordered softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Her eyes gloated over her possession of him.

Not far from the dais, Emerald cleared his throat. "Divine Queen," he announced, "the emissary of Tor Unalaq requests a word with you."

"Of Aquamarine, you mean," Holly said, looking faintly annoyed. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind, and she smiled maliciously. The mottling of her skin faded. "Bring the Marek in," she instructed Emerald.

Emerald bowed and withdrew to return a moment later with a scar-faced man in the garb of an Isyaki.

"Give welcome to the emissary of Tor Unalaq," the eunuch chanted. "Welcome," the chorus replied.

" _ Carefully now _ ," the dry voice in his mind said to Steven. " _ That's the one we saw at the harbour." _

Steven looked more carefully at the Isyaki and realized that it was true.

"Hail, Eternal Agate," the Marek said perfunctorily, bowing first to the queen and then to the statue behind her. "Tor Unalaq, King of Sivu Isyak, sends greetings to the Spirit of Green Diamond and to her handmaiden."

"And are there no greetings from Aquamarine, High Priestess of the Marikeen?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"Of course," the Marek said, "but those are customarily given in private."

"Is your errand here on behalf of Tor Unalaq or of Aquamarine?" she inquired, turning to examine her reflection in the mirror.

"May we speak in private, your Highness?" the Marek asked. "We  **_are_ ** in private," she said.

"But-" He looked around at the kneeling eunuchs in the room.

"My body servants," she said. "An Olivine queen is never left alone. You should know that by now."

"And that one?" The Marek pointed at Steven.

"He is also a servant - but of a slightly different kind."

The Marek shrugged. "Whatever you wish. I salute you in the name of Aquamarine, High Priestess of the Marikeen and Disciple of Black Diamond."

"The Handmaiden of the Serpent-God salutes Aquamarine of Fy Sivu," she responded formally. "What does the Marek High Priestess want of me?"

"The boy, your Highness," the Marek said bluntly.

"Which boy is that?"

"The boy you stole from Polina and who now sits at your feet."

She laughed scornfully. "Convey my regrets to Aquamarine," she said, "but that would be impossible."

"It's unwise to deny the wishes of Aquamarine," the Marek warned.

"It's even more unwise to make demands of Holly Green Agate in her own palace," she said. "What is Aquamarine prepared to offer for this boy?"

"Her eternal friendship."

"What need has the Serpent Queen of friends?"

"Gold, then," the Marek offered with annoyance.

"I know the secret of the red gold of Alabastia," she told him. "I don't wish to become a slave to it. Keep your gold, Marek."

"Might I say that the game you play is very dangerous, your Highness?" the Marek said coolly. "You've already made Polina your enemy. Can you afford the enmity of Aquamarine as well?"

"I'm not afraid of The Pearl," she answered. "Nor of Aquamarine."

"The queen's bravery is remarkable," he said dryly.

"This is beginning to get tiresome. My terms are very simple. Tell Aquamarine that I have Black Diamond's enemy, and I will keep him - unless-" She paused.

"Unless what, your Highness?"

"If Aquamarine will speak to Black Diamond for me, an agreement might be reached."

"What sort of agreement?"

"I will give the boy to Black Diamond as a wedding gift."

The Marek blinked in surprise.

"If Black Diamond will make me her betrothed and give me immortality, I will deliver her Starlight up to her."

"All the world knows that the Dragon God of Alabastia is bound in slumber," the Marek objected.

"But he will not sleep forever," Holly said flatly. "The priests of Alabastia and the sorcerers of Sangria always seem to forget that the Eternal Agate can read the signs in the heavens as clearly as they. The day of Black Diamond's awakening is at hand. Tell Aquamarine that upon the day that I am wed to Black Diamond, the boy will be in her grasp. Until that day, the Starlight is mine."

"I shall deliver your message to Aquamarine, then," the Marek said with a stiff, icy bow.

"Leave," she told him with an airy wave of her hand.

"So that is it," the voice in Steven's mind said as the Marek left. "I should have known, I suppose."

Monty the python suddenly raised his head, his great neck flaring and his eyes burning. " **_Beware!_ ** " he hissed.

"Of the Marek?" Holly laughed. "I have nothing to fear from him."

"Not the Marek," Monty said. "That one." He flickered his tongue at Steven. "Its mind is awake."

"That's impossible," she objected.

"Nevertheless, its mind is awake. It has to do, I think, with that metal thing around its neck."

"Remove the ornament then," she told the snake.

Monty lowered his length to the floor and slid around the divan toward Steven.

"Remain very still, " Steven's inner voice told him. "Don't try to fight. "

Numbly, Steven watched the blunt head draw closer.

Monty raised his head, his hood flaring. His nervous tongue darted. Slowly he leaned forward. His nose touched the silver amulet hanging about Steven's neck.

 

There was a bright blue spark as the reptile's head came in contact with the amulet. Steven felt the familiar surge, but tightly controlled now, focused down to a single point. Monty recoiled, hissing wildly, and the spark from the amulet leaped out, sizzling through the air, linking the silver disc to the reptile's nose. 

 

The snake's eyes began to shrivel as steam poured from his nostrils and his gaping mouth.

Then the spark was gone, and the body of the dead snake, blackened beyond belief, writhed and twisted convulsively on the polished stone floor of the chamber.

 

"Monty!" Holly shrieked.

 

The eunuchs scrambled out of the way of the wildly threshing body of the snake.

 

"My Queen!" a shaved-headed, functionary gibbered from the door, "the world is ending!"

 

" **_What?_ ** " Holly Green Agate tore her eyes from the convulsions of the snake.

 

"The sun has gone out! Noon is as dark as midnight! The city is gone mad with terror!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steven disappears, his force awakens, and the city goes dark. Coincidence? I think not.


	31. Last Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incurring the wrath of the Pearl Eternal, Holly finds her options severely limited, and dwindling fast. Steven faces his first Diamond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning of the end of The Pearl Eternal.  
> I'm not planning on taking a hiatus, but my family is flying off to Turkey tonight, so that might limit my options in the way of publishing.  
> Fret not though, more me time means more up time for my fics!

**IN THE TUMULT WHICH FOLLOWED** that announcement, Steven sat quietly on the cushions beside Holly's throne. The quiet voice in his mind, however, was speaking to him rapidly.

 

" _Stay very still,_ " the voice told him. " _Don't say anything, and don't do anything._ "

"Get my astronomers here immediately!" Holly ordered. "I want to know why I wasn't warned about this eclipse."

"It's not an eclipse, my Queen," the bald functionary wailed, groveling on the polished floor not far from the still-writhing Monty. "The dark came like a great curtain. It was like a moving wall - no wind, no rain, no thunder. It swallowed the sun without a sound." He began to sob brokenly. "We shall never see the sun again."

"Stop that, you idiot," Holly snapped. "Get on your feet. Emerald, take this babbling fool out of here and go look at the sky. Then come back to me here. I have to know what's going on."

Emerald shook himself almost like a dog coming out of the water and pulled his fascinated eyes off the dead, fixed grin on the face of Monty. He pulled the blubbering functionary to his feet and led him out of the chamber.

Holly turned then on Steven.

" **_How_ ** did you do that?" she demanded, pointing at the twitching form of Monty.

"I don't know," he said. His mind was still sunk in fog. Only the quiet corner where the voice lived was alert.

"Take off that amulet," she commanded.

Obediently, Steven reached his hands toward the medallion. Suddenly his hands froze. They would not move. He let them fall.

"I can't," he said.

"Take it from him," she ordered one of the eunuchs. The man glanced once at the dead snake, then stared at Steven. He shook his head and backed away in fright.

" **_Do as I say!_ ** " the Snake Queen ordered sharply.

From somewhere in the palace came a hollow, reverberating crash. There was the sound of nails screeching out of heavy wood and the avalanche noise of a wall collapsing. Then, a long way down one of the dim corridors, someone screamed in agony.

The dry consciousness in his mind reached out, probing. "At last," it said with obvious relief.

"What's going on out there?" Holly blazed.

" _Come with me,_ " the voice in Steven's mind said. " _I need your help._ " Steven put his hands under him and started to push himself up. _"No. This way._ " A strange image of separation rose in Steven's mind.

 

 

Unthinking, he willed the separation and felt himself rising and yet not moving. Suddenly he had no sense of his body - no arms or legs - yet he seemed to move. He saw himself - his own body - sitting stupidly on the cushions at Holly's feet.

" _Hurry,_ " the voice said to him. It was no longer inside his mind but seemed to be somewhere beside him. A dim shape was there, formless but somehow very familiar.

The fog that had clouded Steven's wits was gone, and he felt very alert. "Who are you?" he demanded of the shape beside him.

" _There isn't time to explain. Quickly, we have to lead them back before Holly has time to do anything._ "

"Lead who?"

" _Pearl and Amethyst._ "

" **_Aunt Pearl?_ ** Where is she?"

" _Come on,_ " the voice said urgently.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Together Steven and the strange presence at his side seemed to waft toward the closed door. They passed through it as if it were no more than insubstantial mist and emerged in the corridor outside.

Then they were flying, soaring down the corridor with no sense of air rushing past or even of movement.

A moment later they came out into that vast open hall where Spinel had first brought Steven when they had entered the palace. There they stopped, hovering in the air.

Aunt Pearl, her splendid azure eyes ablaze and a crackling nimbus about her, strode through the hall. Beside her hulked the great purple panther Steven had seen before. Amethyst's face seemed vaguely within that bestial head, but there was no humanity in it. The beast's eyes were aflame with raging madness, and its mouth gaped horribly.

Desperate guards tried to push the puma back with long pikes, but the beast swiped the pikes away and fell upon the guards. Its vast embrace crushed them, and its flailing claws ripped them open. The trail behind Aunt Pearl and the puma was littered with maimed bodies and still-quivering chunks of flesh.

The snakes which had lain in the corners were seething across the floor, but as they came into contact with the halo of light which surrounded Aunt Pearl, they died even as Monty had died.

 

Methodically, Aunt Pearl was blasting down doors with words and gestures. A thick wall barred her way, and she brushed it into rubble as if it had been made of cobwebs.

 

Amethyst raged through the dim hall, roaring insanely, destroying everything in her path. A shrieking eunuch tried desperately to climb one of the pillars. The great beast reared up and hooked her claws into the man's back and pulled him down. The shrieks ended abruptly in a spurt of brains and blood when the massive jaws closed with a sickening crunch on the eunuch's head.

 

" _Pearl!_ " the presence beside Steven shouted soundlessly. " _This way!_ "

Aunt Pearl turned sharply at the intrusion.

" _Follow us,_ " the presence said. " _Hurry!_ "

 

Then Steven and that other part of himself were flying back down the corridor toward Holly and the semiconscious body they had recently vacated. Behind them came Aunt Pearl and the ravening Amethyst.

Steven and his strange companion passed again through the heavy, closed door.

Holly, her naked body mottled now with rage rather than lust beneath her transparent gown, stood over the vacant-eyed form on the cushions.

"Answer me!" she was shouting. " **_Answer me!_ ** "

" _When we get back,_ " the shapeless presence said, " _let me handle things. We have to buy some time._ "

And then they were back. Steven felt his body shudder briefly, and he was looking out through his own eyes again. The fog which had benumbed him before came rushing back.

"What?" his lips said, though he had not consciously formed the word.

"I said, is this **_your_ ** doing?" Holly demanded.

"Is what my doing?" The voice coming from his lips sounded like his, but there was a subtle difference.

"All of it," she said. "The darkness. The attack on my palace."

"I don't think so. How could I? I'm only a boy."

"Don't lie to me, Starlight," she demanded. "I know who you are. I know what you are. It has to be you. Belgarath himself could not blot out the sun. I warn you, Starlight, what you have drunk today is death. Even now the poison in your veins is killing you."

"Why did you do that to me?"

"To keep you. You must have more or you will die. You must drink what only I can give you, and you must drink every day of your life. You're mine, Starlight, **_mine!_ ** "

Despairing shrieks came from just outside the door.

The Serpent Queen looked up, startled, then she turned to the huge statue behind her, bowed down in a strange ceremonial way and began to weave her hands through the air in a series of intricate gestures. She started to pronounce an involved formula in a language Steven had never heard before, a language filled with guttural hissings and strange cadences.

The heavy door exploded inward, blasted into splinters, and Aunt Pearl stood in the shattered doorway, her white lock ablaze and her eyes dreadful. The great puma at her side roared, her teeth dripping blood and with tatters of flesh still hanging from her claws.

"I've warned you, Holly." Aunt Pearl spoke in a deadly voice.

"Stop where you are, Polina," the queen ordered. She did not turn around, and her fingers continued their sinuous weaving in the air. "The boy is dying," she said. "Nothing can save him if you attack me."

Aunt Pearl stopped. "What have you done?" she demanded.

"Look at him," Holly said. "He has drunk rathe and athaliss. Even now their fire is in his veins. He will need more very soon." Her hands still moved in the air, and her face was fixed in extreme concentration. Her lips began moving again in that guttural hissing.

" _Is it true?_ " Aunt Pearl's voice echoed in Steven's mind.

" _It seems to be,_ " the dry voice replied. " _They made him drink things, and he seems different now._ "

Aunt Pearl's eyes widened. " _Do I know you?_ "

" _I've always been here, Pearl. Didn't you know that?_ "

Her eyes flickered with brief emotion. " _Does Steven know?_ "

" _He knows that I'm here. He doesn't know what it means._ "

" _We can talk about that later,_ " she decided. " _Watch very closely. This is what you have to do._ " A confused blur of images welled up in Steven's mind. " _Do you understand?_ "

" _Of course. I'll show him how._ "

" _Can't you do it?_ "

" _No, Polina,_ " the dry voice said. " _The power is his, not mine. Don't worry. He and I understand each other._ "

Steven felt strangely alone as the two voices spoke together in his mind.

" _Steven._ " The dry voice spoke quietly. " _I want you to think about your blood._ "

" _My blood?_ "

" _We're going to change it for a moment._ "

" _Why?_ "

" _To burn away the poison they gave you. Now concentrate on your blood._ "

Steven did.

" _You want it to be like this._ " An image of a yellow stream came into Steven's mind. " _Do you understand?_ "

" _Yes._ "

" _Do it, then. Now._ "

Steven put his fingertips to his chest and willed his blood to change. He suddenly felt as if he were on fire. His heart began to pound, and a sudden, heavy sweat burst out all over his body.

" _A moment longer,_ " the voice said.

Steven was dying. His altered blood seared through his veins, and he began to tremble violently. His heart hammered in his chest like a tripping sledge. The whites of his eyes went dark, and he began to topple slowly forward.

" _Now!_ " the voice demanded sharply. " _Change it back._ "

Then it was over. Steven's heart stuttered and then faltered back to its normal pace. He was exhausted, but the fog in his brain was gone.

" _It's done, Polina,_ " the other Steven said. " _You can do what needs doing now._ "

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

Aunt Pearl had been watching anxiously, but now her face became dreadfully stern. She walked across the polished floor toward the dais.

"Holly," she said, "turn around and look at me."

The queen's hands were raised above her head now, and the hissing words tumbled from her lips, rising finally to a hoarse shout.

Then, far above them in the shadows near the ceiling, the eyes of the huge statue opened and began to glow a deep emerald fire. A polished jewel on Holly's head began also to burn with the same glow.

The statue moved. The sound it made was a kind of ponderous creaking, deafeningly loud. The solid rock from which the huge shape had been hewn bent and flexed as the statue took a step forward and then another.

"Why-did-you-summon-me?" An enormous voice demanded through stiff, stony lips. The voice reverberated hollowly up from the massive stone entity.

"Defend thy handmaiden, O Great Green One!" Holly cried, turning to look triumphantly at Aunt Pearl. "This evil sorceress hath invaded thy domain to slay me. Her wicked power is so great that none may withstand her. I am thy promised bride, and I place myself under thy protection."

"Who is this who defiles **_my_ ** temple?" the statue demanded in a vast roar. "Who dares to raise her hand against my chosen and beloved?" The emerald eyes flashed in dreadful wrath.

Aunt Pearl stood alone in the center of the polished floor with the vast statue looming above her. Her face was completely devoid of fear. "You go too far, Holly," she said. "This is forbidden."

The Serpent Queen laughed scornfully. " **_Forbidden?_ ** What does **_your_ ** forbidding mean to me? Flee now, or face the wrath of The Luminous Green Diamond. Contend if you will with a God!"

"If I must," Aunt Pearl shrugged. She straightened then and spoke a single word. The roaring in Steven's mind at that word was overwhelming. Then, suddenly, she began to grow. Foot by foot she towered up, rising like a tree, expanding, growing gigantic before Steven's stunned eyes. Within a moment she faced the great stone God as an equal.

"Polina?" the God's voice sounded puzzled. "Why have you done this?"

"I come in fulfillment of the Prophecy, my Diamond," she said. "Thy handmaiden hath betrayed thee and thy sisters."

"It cannot be so," Green Diamond said. "She is my chosen one. Her face is the face of my beloved."

"Look closely, my Diamond." Aunt Pearl said, "the Holly you chose was a Pearl. This one is an Agate. Her likeness, while striking, is not truly so. A great many Hollys have served thee in this temple since thy beloved died."

"Died?" the God said incredulously. “But she was a gem! Has such eons passed that even gems may perish?”

“It was her choice to do so, my Diamond.”

"She lies!" Holly shrieked. "I am thy beloved, O my Lord. Let not her lies turn thee from me. Kill her."

"The Prophecy approaches its day," Aunt Pearl said. "The boy at Holly's feet is its fruit. He must be returned to me, or the Prophecy will fail."

"Is the day of the Prophecy come so soon?" the God asked.

"It is not soon, my Diamond," Aunt Pearl said. "It is late. Thy slumber hath encompassed eons."

"Lies! All lies!" Holly cried desperately, clinging to the ankle of the huge stone God.

"I must test out the truth of this," the God said slowly. "I have slept long and deeply, and now the world comes upon me unaware."

"Destroy her, O my Lord!" Holly demanded. "Her lies are an abomination and a desecration of thy holy presence."

"I will find the truth of this, Holly," said Green Diamond ominously.

Steven felt a brief, enormous touch upon his mind. Something had brushed him - something so vast that his imagination shuddered back from its immensity. Then the touch moved on.

"Ahhh-" The sigh came from the floor. The dead snake Monty stirred. "Ahhh- Let me sleep," it hissed.

"In but a moment," Green said. "What was your name, serpent?"

"I was called Monty," the snake said. "I was counsellor and companion to the Eternal Agate. Send me back, Lord. I cannot bear to live again."

"Eternal Agate? Is this not my Pearl Eternal?" the God asked.

"Her successor." Monty sighed. "Thy beloved priestess died thousands of years ago. Each new Holly is chosen because of her resemblance to thy beloved."

"So it is true," Green said with pain in her soft voice. "And what was this woman's purpose in removing the Starlight from Polina's care?"

"She sought alliance with your sister, White Diamond," Monty said. "She thought to trade Starlight to the Accursed One in exchange for the immortality her embrace would bestow upon her."

"Her **_embrace_**? My priestess would submit to the foul embrace of my mad sister?"

"Willingly, Lord," Monty said. "It is her nature to seek the embrace of any man or God or beast who passes."

A look of repugnance flickered across Green’s stony face. "Has it always been so?" she asked.

"Always, Lord," Monty said. "The potion which maintains her youth and semblance to thy beloved sets her veins afire with lust. That fire remains unquenched until she dies. Let me go, Lord. The pain!"

"Sleep, loyal Monty," Green granted sorrowfully. "Take my thanks with you down into silent death."

"Ahhh-" Monty sighed languidly and sank down again.

"I too will return to slumber," Green Diamond said. "I must not remain, lest my presence rouse White to that war which would unmake the world." The great statue stepped back to the spot where it had stood for thousands of years. The deafening creak and groan of flexing rock again filled the huge chamber. "Deal with this… **_pretender_ ** as it pleases thee, Polina," the stone God said. "Only spare her life out of remembrance of my beloved."

"I will, my Diamond," Aunt Pearl said, bowing to the statue. Somehow, despite her massive size, the gesture was still inexplicably graceful.

"And carry my love to my eldest sister, your Master Grey," the hollow voice said, fading even as it spoke.

"Sleep, my Diamond," Aunt Pearl murmured. "May thy slumber wash away thy grief."

" **_No!_ ** " Holly wailed, but the green fire had already died in the statue's eyes, and the jewel on her crown flickered and went dark.

"It's time, Holly," Aunt Pearl, vast and terrible, announced.

"Don't kill me, Polina," the queen begged, falling to her knees. "Please don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you, Holly," Aunt Pearl told her. "I promised Green Diamond that I would spare your life."

"I didn't make any such promise," Amethyst said from the doorway. Steven looked sharply at his huge friend, dwarfed now by Aunt Pearl’s immensity. The panther was gone, and in its place the big gem stood, whip in hand.

"No, Amethyst. I'm going to solve the problem of Holly once and for all." Aunt Pearl turned back to the groveling queen. "You will live, Holly. You'll live for a very long time - eternally, perhaps."

An impossible hope dawned in Holly's eyes. Slowly she rose to her feet and looked up at the huge figure rising above her. "Eternally, Polina?" she asked.

"But I must change you," Aunt Pearl said. "The poison you've drunk to keep you young and beautiful is slowly killing you. Even now its traces are beginning to show on your face."

The queen's hands flew to her cheeks, and she turned quickly to look into her mirror.

"You're decaying, Holly," Aunt Pearl said. "Soon you'll be ugly and old. The lust which fills you will burn itself out, and you'll die. Your blood's too warm; that's the whole problem."

"But how-" Holly faltered.

"A little change," Aunt Pearl assured her. "Just a small one, and you'll live forever." Steven could feel the force of her will gathering itself. "I will make you eternal, Holly." She raised her hand and spoke a single word. The terrible repercussions of that word shook Steven like a leaf in the wind.

 

\-----------------

 

At first nothing seemed to happen. Holly stood fixed with her pale nakedness gleaming through her gown. Then the strange mottling grew more pronounced, and her thighs pressed tightly together. The skin around them grew thicker as nerve and sinew began to form where none existed prior. Her face began to shift, to grow more pointed. Her lips disappeared as her mouth spread, and its corners slid up grotesquely into a fixed reptilian grin.

 

Steven watched in horror, unable to take his eyes off the queen. Her gown slid away as her shoulders disappeared and her arms fused to her sides. Her body began to elongate, and her legs, grown completely together now, began to loop into coils. Her lustrous hair disappeared, and the last vestiges of humanity faded from her face. Her golden crown, however, remained firmly upon her head. Her tongue flickered as she sank down into the mass of her loops and coils. The hood upon her neck spread as she looked with flat, dead eyes at Aunt Pearl, who had somehow during the queen's transformation resumed her normal size.

 

"Ascend your throne, Holly Green," Aunt Pearl said.

 

The queen's head remained immobile, but her coils looped and mounted the cushioned divan, and the sound of coil against coil was a dry, dusty rasp.

Aunt Pearl turned to Emerald, her right-hand gem.

 

"Behold the Handmaiden of Green Diamond, the queen of the snake-people, whose dominion shall endure until the end of days, for she's immortal now and will reign in Olivia forever."

Emerald's face was ghastly pale, and his eyes bulged wildly. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"I'll leave you with your queen, then," she told him. "I'd prefer to go peacefully, but one way or another, the boy and I are leaving."

"I'll send word ahead," Emerald agreed quickly. "No one will try to bar your way."

"Well," Amethyst said dryly. “Smartest move I've seen all day.”

"All hail t-t-the Serpent Queen of Olivia," one of the crimson-robed eunuchs pronounced in a shaking voice, sinking to his knees before the dais.

"Praise her," the others responded ritualistically, also kneeling. "Her glory is revealed to us."

"Worship her."

 

Steven glanced back once as he followed Aunt Pearl toward the shattered door. Holly lay upon her throne with her mottled coils redundantly piled and her hooded head turned toward the mirror.

The golden crown sat atop her head, and her flat, serpent eyes regarded her reflection in the glass. There was no expression on her reptile face, so it was impossible to know what she was thinking. 

If she wanted to scream, she had no way to show it.

The notion was too terrifying for Steven to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harlan Ellison vibes~
> 
> I adore his work. I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream was and still is the only post-modern concept that genuinely terrifies me. The fact that human imagination can conceive this kind of possible future makes me shudder to think of what happens when humanity achieves technological singularity.
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to close up this fic in the same day, so that at least we can end on a good note before I go.
> 
> 15 hour flight urghhhh >_<


	32. Epilogue : Call of The Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship finally rendezvous with each other, and they set their course for home.

**THE CORRIDORS AND VAULTED HALLS** Of the palace were empty as Aunt Pearl led them from the throne room where the eunuchs knelt, chanting their praises to the Serpent Queen.

Whip in hand, Amethyst stalked grimly through the awful carnage that marked the trail she had left when she had entered. The big gem's face was pale, and she frequently averted her eyes from some of the more savagely mutilated corpses that littered their way.

 

When they emerged, they found the streets of Echelon darker than night and filled with hysterical crowds wailing in terror. Amethyst, with a torch she had taken from the palace wall in one hand and her huge whip in the other, led them into the street. Even in their panic the Olivians made way for her.

"What is this, P?" she growled over her shoulder, waving the torch slightly as if to brush the darkness away. "Is it some kind of magic?"

"No," she answered. "It's not my magic."

Tiny flecks of gray were falling through the torchlight. "Snow?" Amethyst asked incredulously.

"No," she said. "Ashes."

"What's burning?"

"A mountain," she replied. "Let's get back to the ship as quickly as we can. There's more danger from this crowd than from any of this." She threw her light cloak about Steven's shoulders and pointed down a street where a few torches bobbed here and there. "Let's go that way."

The ash began to fall more heavily. It was almost like dirty gray flour sifting down through the sodden air, and there was a dreadful, sulfurous stink to it.

By the time they reached the wharves, the absolute darkness had begun to pale. The ash continued to drift down, seeping into the cracks between the cobblestones and gathering in little windows along the edges of the buildings. Though it was growing lighter, the falling ash, like fog, blotted out everything more than ten feet away.

The wharves were total chaos. Crowds of Olivians, shrieking and wailing, were trying to climb into boats to flee from the choking ash that sifted with deadly silence down through the damp air. Mad with terror, many even leaped into the deadly waters of the river.

"We're not going to be able to get through that mob, P," Amethyst said. "Stay here a moment." She stowed her whip, jumped up and caught the edge of a low roof. She pulled herself up and stood outlined dimly above them.

" **_HEY SUGI!_ ** " she roared in a huge voice that carried even over the noise of the crowd.

"Amy!" Sugilite's voice came back. "Where are you?"

"At the foot of the pier," Amethyst shouted. "We can't get through the crowd."

"Stay there," Sugilite yelled back. "We'll come and get you."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After a few moments there was the tramp of heavy feet on the wharf and the occasional sound of blows. A few cries of pain mingled with the sounds of panic from the crowd. Then Sugilite, Jasper and a half dozen burly sailors armed with clubs strode out of the ashfall, clearing a path with brutal efficiency.

"Did you get lost?" Sugilite yelled up to Amethyst.

Amethyst jumped down from the roof. "We had to make a stop by the palace," she answered shortly.

"We were getting worried about your safety, my Lady," Jasper told Aunt Pearl, absently pushing a gibbering Olivian out of his way. "Goodman Bismuth returned some hours ago."

"We were delayed," she said. "Captain, can you get us on board your ship?"

Sugilite gave her an evil grin in response.

"Let's go then," she urged. "As soon as we get on board, it might be a good idea to anchor out in the river a little way. This ash will settle after a while, but these people are going to be hysterical until it does. Has there been any word from Vidalia or my father yet?"

"Nothing, my Lady," Sugilite said.

"What is **_he_ ** doing?" she demanded irritably of no one in particular. Jasper drew his broadsword and marched directly into the face of the crowd, neither slowing nor altering his course. The Olivians melted out of his path.

The crowd pressing at the edge of the wharf beside Sugilite's ship was even thicker, and Bismuth, Ruby and the rest of the sailors lined the rail with long boat-hooks, pushing the terror-stricken people away.

"Run out the plank," Sugilite shouted as they reached the edge of the wharf.

" **_Noble captain_ ** ," a bald Olivian blubbered, clinging to Sugilite's fur vest. "I'll give you a hundred gold pieces if you'll let me aboard your ship."

Disgusted, Sugilite pushed him away.

"A thousand gold pieces," the Olivian promised, clutching Sugilite's arm and waving a purse.

"Get this baboon off me," Sugilite ordered.

One of the sailors rather casually clubbed the Olivian into insensibility, then bent and yanked the purse from his grip. He opened the purse and poured the coins out into one hand. "Three pieces of silver," he said with disgust. "All the rest is copper." He turned back and kicked the unconscious man in the stomach.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

They crossed to the ship one by one while Amethyst and Jasper held the crowd back with the threat of massive violence.

"Cut the hawsers," Sugilite shouted when they were all aboard. The sailors chopped the thick hawsers loose to a great cry of dismay from the Olivians crowding the edge of the wharf. The sluggish current pulled the ship slowly away, and wails and despairing moans followed them as they drifted.

 

"Steven," Aunt Pearl said, "why don't you go below and put on some decent clothes? And wash that disgusting rouge off your face. Then come back up here. I would like to speak with you."

Steven considered the sudden change in his Aunt’s overall tone, then blushed as he had forgotten how scantily he was dressed and he flushed slightly and went quickly below deck.

 

It had grown noticeably lighter when he came back up, dressed again in tunic and hose, but the gray ash still sifted down through the motionless air, making the world around them hazy and coating everything with a heavy layer of fine grit. They had drifted some distance out into the river, and Sugilite's sailors had dropped the anchor. The ship swung slowly in the sluggish current.

"Over here, Steven," Aunt Pearl called. She was standing near the prow, looking out into the dusty haze. Steven went to her a little hesitantly, the memory of what had happened at the palace still strong in his mind.

"Sit down, dear," she suggested. "There's something I have to talk with you about."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, sitting on the bench there.

"Steven." She turned to look at him. "Did anything happen while you were in Holly's palace?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," she said, her voice quiet. "You're not going to embarrass us both by making me ask certain questions, are you?"

"Oh." Steven blushed. " **_That?_ ** No, nothing like that happened." He remembered the lush over-ripeness of the queen with a certain regret.

"Good. That was the one thing I was afraid of. You can't afford to get involved in any of that sort of thing just yet. It has some peculiar effects on one in your rather special circumstances."

"I'm not sure I understand," he said.

"You have certain abilities," she told him. "And if you start experimenting with that **_other thing_ ** before they're fully matured, the results can sometimes be a bit unpredictable. It's better not to confuse things at this point."

"Maybe it'd be better if something had happened, then," Steven blurted. "Maybe it would have fixed it so I couldn't hurt people anymore."

"I doubt it," she said. "Your power's too great to be neutralized so easily. Do you remember what we talked about that day when we left Shwar - about instruction?"

"I don't need any instruction," he protested, his tone growing sullen.

"Yes, you do," she said, "and you need it now. Your power is **_enormous_ ** \- more power than I've ever seen before, and some of it so complex that I can't even begin to understand it. You must begin your instruction before something disastrous happens. You're totally out of control, Steven. If you're really serious about not wanting to hurt people, you should be more than willing to start learning how to keep any accidents from happening."

"I don't want to be a sorcerer," he objected. "All I want to do is get rid of it. Can't you help me do that?"

She shook her head. "No. And I wouldn't even if I could. You can't renounce it, my darling Steven. It's part of you."

"Then I'm going to be a monster?" Steven demanded bitterly. "I'm going to go around burning people alive or turning them into toads or snakes? And maybe after a while I'll get so used to it that it won't even bother me anymore. I'll live forever - like you and grandfather - but I won't be human anymore. Aunt Pearl, I think I'd rather be dead.

" _Can't you reason with him?_ " Her voice inside his head spoke directly to that other awareness.

" _Not at the moment, Pearl,_ " the dry voice replied. " _He's too busy wallowing in self pity._ "

" _He must learn to control the power he has,_ " she said.

" _I'll keep him out of mischief,_ " the voice promised. " _I don't think there's much else we can do until Gregarion gets back. He's going through a moral crisis, and we can't really tamper with him until he works out his own solutions to it._ "

_"I don't like to see him suffering this way._ "

" _You're too tender-hearted, Pearl. He's a sturdy boy, and a bit of suffering won't damage him._ "

"Will the two of you stop treating me as if I'm not even here?" Steven demanded angrily.

 

"Mistress Pearl," Bismuth said, coming across the deck to them, "I think you'd better come quickly. Amethyst's going to shatter herself."

Aunt Pearl stared back, unblinking for a few moments. “She’s what?”

"It's something about some curse," Bismuth explained. "She says she's going to fall on her sword."

"That idiot! Where is she?"

"She's back by the stern," Bismuth said. "She's took Jasper’s sword out, and she won't let anybody near her."

"Come with me." She started toward the stern with Steven and Bismuth behind her.

"O-okay, just calm.. down. We’ve all experienced our fair share of bloodlust, sometimes it gets the better of us, that’s all," Jasper was saying, trying to reason with the big gem. "It is not a thing of which to be proud, but neither is it a cause for such bleak despair."

Amethyst did not answer, but stood at the very stern of the ship, her eyes blank with horror and Jasper’s broadsword weaving in a slow, menacing arc, holding everyone at bay.

Aunt Pearl walked through the crowd of sailors and directly up to him.

"Don't try to stop me, Pearl," she warned.

She reached out quite calmly and touched the point of the sword with one finger.

"It's a little dull, Jasper," she said thoughtfully. "Why don't we have Bismuth sharpen it? That way the pressure’ll crack your gemstone nice and easy."

Amethyst looked a bit startled.

"Have you made all the necessary arrangements?" she asked.

"What arrangements?"

"For the disposal of your body," she told him. "Really, Amethyst, I thought you had better manners. A decent friend doesn't burden other friends with that kind of chore." She thought a moment. "Burning is customary, I suppose, but the wood here in Olivia's very soggy. You'd probably smolder for a week or more. I imagine we'll have to settle for just dumping you in the river. The leeches and crayfish should have you stripped to the bone in a day or so."

Amethyst's expression grew hurt.

"Did you want us to take your sword and shield back to your baby sister?" she asked.

"Don’t joke about that Pearl," she answered sullenly. She was obviously not prepared for her brutal practicality. “You know how many times we’ve tried and failed to do that.”

"Oh, didn't I tell you? How forgetful of me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," she said. "It's not important now. Were you just going to fall on your sword, or would you prefer to run up against the mast with the hilt? Either way works rather well." She turned to the sailors. "Would you clear a path so the Earl of Crenellan can get a good run at the mast?"

The sailors stared at her.

"What did you mean about a sister?" Amethyst asked, lowering her sword.

"It would only unsettle your mind, Amethyst," she answered. "You'd probably make a mess of killing yourself if I told you about it. We'd really rather not have you lying around groaning for weeks on end. That sort of thing is so depressing, you know."

" **_I want to know what you're talking about!_ ** "

"Oh, very well," she said with a great sigh. "Your sister Carnelian is with child - surprising, I thought she’d be busy with other things, what with her running your homestead and all. She looks like a rising moon at the moment, and that little brat is making her life miserable with her kicking."

"A sister?" Amethyst said, her eyes suddenly very wide. “Wh-what.. How?”

"Yes, she’s taken quite a liking to a rather fine-looking gentleman," she went on. "Really, you must learn to pay attention. You'll never make anything of yourself if you keep blundering around with your ears closed like this."

"A baby sister?" she repeated, the sword sliding out of her fingers.

"Now you've dropped it," she chided him. "Pick it up immediately, and let's get on with this. It's very inconsiderate to take all day to kill yourself like this."

"I'm not going to kill myself," she told her indignantly.

"You're not?"

"Of course not," she sputtered, and then she saw the faint flicker of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. She hung her head sheepishly.

"You’re such a child," she said. Then she took hold of her great lilac mane with both hands, pulled her head down and kissed her ash-dusted face soundly. Sugilite began to chortle, and Jasper stepped forward and caught Amethyst in a rough embrace.

"Congratu-fuckin’-lations, my brother," he said. "My heart soars for you."

"Bring up a cask," Sugilite told the sailors, pounding on his friend's back. "We'll salute the Famethyst’s newest clan addition with the bright brown ale of timeless Wy-Atia."

"I expect this will get rowdy now," Aunt Pearl said quietly to Steven. "Come with me." She led the way back toward the ship's prow.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Will she ever change back?" Steven asked when they were alone again.

"What?"

"The queen," Steven explained. "Will she ever change back again?"

"In time she won't even want to," Aunt Pearl answered. "The shapes we assume begin to dominate our thinking after a while. As the years go by, she'll become more and more a snake and less and less a woman."

Steven shuddered. "It would have been kinder to have killed her."

"I promised Green Diamond that I wouldn't," she said.

"Was that really **_the_ ** Diamond?"

"Erm… more like her spirit," she replied, looking out into the hazy ashfall. "Olive Green Pearl infused the statue with Green Diamond's spirit. For a time at least the statue was the God. It's all very complicated." She seemed a bit preoccupied. "Where **_is_ ** he?" She seemed suddenly irritated.

"Who?"

"Father. He should have been here days ago."

They stood together looking out at the muddy river.

Finally she turned from the railing and brushed at the shoulders of her cloak with distaste. The ash puffed from under her fingers in tiny clouds. "I'm going below," she told him, making a face. "It's just too dirty up here."

"I thought you wanted to talk to me," he said.

"I don't think you're ready to listen. It'll wait." She stepped away, then stopped. "Oh, Steven."

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't drink any of that ale the sailors are swilling. After what they made you drink at the palace, it would probably make you sick."

"Oh," he agreed a trifle regretfully. "All right."

"It's up to you, of course," she said, "but I thought you ought to know." Then she turned again and went to the hatch and disappeared down the stairs.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Steven's emotions were turbulent. The entire day had been vastly eventful, and his mind was filled with a welter of confusing images.

" _Be quiet,_ " the voice in his mind said.

"Uh, what?"

" _I'm trying to hear something. Listen._ "

"Listen to what?"

" _There. Can't you hear it?_ "

Faintly, as if from a very long way ofi, Steven seemed to hear a muffled thudding.

"What is it?"

The voice did not answer, but the amulet about his neck began to throb in time with the distant thudding.

Behind him he heard a rush of tiny feet.

" **_Steven!_ ** " He turned just in time to be caught in Connie's embrace. "Oh, I was **_so worried_ ** about you. Where did you go?"

"Some men came on board and grabbed me," he said, trying to untangle himself from her arms. "They took me to the palace."

"From right under our noses?!" she said. "Did you meet the queen?"

Steven nodded and then shuddered, remembering the hooded snake lying on the divan looking at itself in the mirror.

"What's wrong?" the girl asked.

"A lot of things happened," he answered. "Some of them weren't very pleasant." Somewhere at the back of his awareness, the thudding continued.

"Do you mean they **_tortured_ ** you?" Connie asked, her eyes growing very wide.

"No, nothing like that."

"Well, what happened?" she demanded. "Tell me."

He knew that she would not leave him alone until he did, so he described what had happened as best he could. The throbbing sound seemed to grow louder while he talked, and his right palm began to tingle. He rubbed at it absently.

"How absolutely dreadful," Connie said after he had finished. "Weren't you terrified?"

"Not really," he told her, still scratching at his palm. "Most of the time the things they made me drink made my head so foggy I couldn't feel anything."

"Did you really kill Monty?" she asked, "Just like that?" She snapped her fingers.

"It wasn't exactly just like that," he tried to explain. "There was a little more to it."

"I knew you were a sorcerer," she said. "I told you that you were that day at the pool, remember?"

"I don't want to be," he protested. "I didn't ask to be."

"I didn't ask to be a princess either."

"It's not the same. Being a king or a princess is what one is. Being a sorcerer has to do with what one does."

"I really don't see that much difference," she objected stubbornly.

"I can make things happen," he told her. "Awful things, usually."

"So?" she said maddeningly. "I can make awful things happen too or at least I could back in Tol Maheshwar. One word from me could have sent a servant to the whipping-post - or to the headsman's block. I didn't do it of course, but I could have. Power is power, Steven. The results are the same. You don't have to hurt people if you don't want to."

"It just happens sometimes. It's not that I want to do it." The throbbing had become a nagging thing, almost like a dull headache.

"Then you have to learn to control it."

"Now you sound like Aunt Pearl."

"She's trying to **_help you,_ ** " the princess said. "She keeps trying to get you to do what you're going to have to do eventually anyway. How many more people are you going to have to burn up before you finally accept what she says?"

They sat there for a few silent moments. Connie attentively, and Steven pensively.

"You didn't have to say that." Steven was stung deeply by her words.

"I’m sorry," she told him, "But I think I did. You're lucky I'm not your aunt. I wouldn't put up with your foolishness the way Lady Polina does."

"You don't understand," Steven muttered sullenly.

"I understand much better than you think, Steven. You know what your problem is? You don't want to grow up. You want to keep on being a boy forever. You can't, though; nobody can. No matter how much power you have - whether you're an emperor or a sorcerer - you can't stop the years from going by. I realized that a long time ago, but then I'm probably much smarter than you are." Then without any word of explanation, she raised up on her toes and kissed him lightly full on the lips.

Steven blushed and lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Tell me," Connie said, toying with the sleeve of his tunic, "was Queen Holly Green **_really_ ** as beautiful as they say?"

"She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life," Steven answered without thinking.

The princess froze, catching her breath sharply. Her expression, soft and gentle only moments ago, tensed up, as did her hands into fists as they clenched rigidly at her sides.

"I hate you," she cried from between clenched teeth. Then she turned and ran sobbing in search of Aunt Pearl.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Steven stared after her in perplexity. He turned then to stare moodily out at the river and the drifting ash. The tingling in his palm was becoming intolerable, and he scratched at it, digging in with his fingernails.

" _You'll just make it sore,_ " the voice in his mind said.

"It really itches. I can't stand it."

" _Stop being a baby._ "

"What's causing it?"

" _Do you mean to say you really don't know? You've got further to go than I thought. Put your right hand on the amulet._ "

"Why?"

" _Just do it, Steven._ "

Steven reached inside his tunic, and put his burning palm on his medallion. As a key fitting into the lock for which it was made, the contact between his hand and the throbbing amulet seemed somehow enormously right. The tingling became that now - familiar surge, and the throbbing began to echo hollowly in his ears.

" _Not too much,_ " the voice warned him. " _You're not trying to dry up the river, you know._ "

"What's happening? What is all this?"

" _Gregarion's trying to find us._ "

"Grandfather? Where?"

"Be patient."

 

The throbbing seemed to grow louder until Steven's entire body quivered with each thudding beat. He stared out over the rail, trying to see through the haze. The settling ash, so light that it coated the muddy surface of the river, made everything more than twenty paces away indistinct. It was impossible to see the city, and the wails and cries from the hidden streets seemed somehow muffled. Only the slow wash of the current against the hull seemed clear.

Then a long way out on the river, something moved. It was not very large and seemed to be little more than a dark shadow ghosting silently with the current.

The throbbing grew even louder.

The shadow drew closer, and Steven could just begin to make out the shape of a small boat. An oar caught the surface of the water with a small splash. The man at the oars turned to look over his shoulder.

 

It was V. Her face was covered with gray ash, and tiny rivulets of sweat streaked her cheeks.

Mister Wolf sat in the stern of the little boat, muffled in his cloak and with his hood turned up.

" _Welcome back, Gregarion_ , " the dry voice said.

" _Whoa! Wait, what-- who's that?_ " Wolf's voice in Steven's mind sounded startled. " _Is that you, Shtu-roll?_ "

" _Not quite._ " the voice replied. " _Not yet anyway, but we're getting closer._ "

" _I wondered who was making all the noise._ "

" _He overdoes things sometimes. He'll learn eventually._ "

A shout came from one of the sailors clustered around Amethyst at the stern, and they all turned to watch the small boat drifting toward them. Aunt Pearl came up from below and stepped to the rail.

 

"You're late," she called.

"Ehhh, something came up," the old man answered across the narrowing gap. He pushed back his hood and shook the floury ash out of his cloak. Then Steven saw that the old man's left arm was bound up in a dirty sling across the front of his body.

"What happened to your arm?" Aunt Pearl asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it." There was an ugly scratch running down one of Wolf's cheeks into his short, white beard, and his eyes seemed to glitter with some huge irritation.

The grin on V's ash-coated face was malicious as she dipped her oars once, deftly pulling the little boat in beside Sugilite's ship with a slight thump.

"I don't imagine you can be persuaded to keep your mouth shut, you little shyster." Wolf said irritably to the small woman.

"Would I say anything, O mighty sorcerer?" V asked mockingly, her ferret eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"Just help me up," Wolf told him, his voice testy. His entire bearing was that of a man who had been mortally insulted.

"Whatever you say, ancient Greg," V said, obviously trying to keep from laughing. She steadied Wolf as the old man awkwardly climbed over the ship's rail.

"Let's get out of here," Mister Wolf curtly told Captain Sugilite, who had just joined them.

"Which way, Ancient One?" Sugilite asked carefully, clearly not wanting to aggravate the old man further.

Wolf stared hard at him.

"Upstream or down?" Sugilite explained mollifyingly.

" **_Upstream,_ ** of course," Wolf snapped.

"Well how was I supposed to know?" Sugilite appealed to Aunt Pearl. Then he turned and crossly began barking orders to his sailors.

 

Aunt Pearl's expression was a peculiar mixture of relief and curiosity. "I'm sure your story's going to be absolutely **_fascinating_ ** , father," she said as the sailors began raising the heavy anchors. "I simply can't wait to hear it."

"I can do without the sarcasm, Pearl," Wolf told her. "I've had a very bad day. Try not to make it any worse."

That last remark was finally too much for poor V. The little lady, in the act of climbing across the rail, suddenly collapsed in helpless glee. She tumbled forward to the deck, howling with laughter.

Mister Wolf glared at his laughing companion with a profoundly affronted expression as Sugilite's sailors ran out their oars and began turning the ship in the sluggish current.

" **_What happened_ ** to your arm, father?" Aunt Pearl's gaze was penetrating, and her tone said quite clearly that she did not intend to be put off any longer.

"I broke it," Wolf told her flatly.

"How did you manage that?"

"It was just a stupid accident, Pearl. Those things happen sometimes."

"Let me see it."

"In a minute." He scowled at V, who was still laughing. "Will you **_stop_ ** that? Go tell the sailors where we're going."

"Where **_are_ ** we going, father?" Aunt Pearl asked him. "Did you find Andy's trail?"

"He crossed into Sivu Isyak. Aquamarine was waiting for him."

"And the Ward?"

"She's got it now."

"Are we going to be able to cut him off before he gets to Fy Sivu with it?"

"I doubt it. Anyway, we have to go to the Vale first."

"The Vale? Father, you're not making any sense."

"Our Master's summoned us, Pearl. She wants us at the Vale, so that's where we're going."

"What about the Ward?"

"Aquamarine's got it, and I know where to find **_her_ **. She isn't going anywhere. For right now, we're going to the Vale."

"All right, father," she concurred placatingly. "Don't excite yourself." She looked at him closely. "Have you been fighting, father?" she asked dangerously.

"No, I haven't been fighting." He sounded disgusted.

"What happened, then?"

"A tree fell on me."

" **_What?_ ** "

"You heard me."

“ **_BWAHAHAHA--_ ** ” V exploded into fresh howls of mirth at the old man's grudging confession. From the stern of the ship where Sugilite and Amethyst stood at the tiller, the slow beat of the drum began, and the sailors dug in with their oars.

 

The ship slid through the oily water, moving upstream against the current, with V's laughter trailing behind in the ash-laden air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we have come to the end of Volume II of The Gemstone Chronicles : The Pearl Eternal!
> 
> All the readers who've made it thus far, I hope this work of fiction has been as much as a gift for you as your devoted viewership is to me.  
> This toil is all for you.
> 
> To my most loyal and steadfast reader, Master_of_the_Boot1, I hope you never underestimate the power you hold, the ability to keep a flame alive, to become an impetus for someone to continue writing. It doesn't sound like much, but trust me when I say that your continued support absolutely means the world to me.  
> The same goes for all you commenters, FriendZone, BP, Jera93, starstruck, to name a few. Whether your comments highlight something you adore about my work or just a little outpouring of support, to know that I'm worthy of such praise really is the most precious of gifts.
> 
> Above and beyond that, what I treasure most is your feedback. As I argue over characters and why they feel the way they do or say the things they say, sometimes you point things out that even I overlook in my characterisation of them, in doing so, not only do you help me improve my fic (thank you very much :)) ), but you remind me of the reason why I force myself to write every day in the first place. 
> 
> This is as much of a journey for me as it is for you all. So thank you, my lovelies, for being my light in the darkness.
> 
> For you, I burn my candle at both ends.


End file.
